


Just Me, You, and These Shitty Cigarettes

by dabblingwithwords



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Artist Steve Rogers, BDSM, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Coffee Shop, Dubious Content, Emotional Manipulation, Everyone Is In Love with Bucky Barnes, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Language, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Past Child Abuse, Pining, Praise Kink, Protective Steve Rogers, Sam needs a vacation, Smut, Top Steve Rogers, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, barista Bucky, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-05-30 00:15:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6399886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dabblingwithwords/pseuds/dabblingwithwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers is pretty sure Natasha's new roommate is trying to kill him. Which he wouldn't mind considering he's been helplessly in love with him since they were thirteen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Parks and Cigarettes

  
It was a hot summer night when Bucky Barnes first met Steve Rogers. 

They were thirteen; Steve had spotted Bucky first, sitting in the abandoned park across the lot from his apartment complex. Bucky was chewing on the end of a sloppily rolled cigarette, it wasn’t lit, and his bare toes scraped on the mulch below the black rubber of the swings. He was moving slowly back and forth, eyes distant, and Steve had stopped under the streetlamp and watched. He wasn’t sure why. His ma had always been very clear about him heading straight home from the subway, especially after his studio art classes Uptown, but here he was stopping and staring at a boy that looked as lost as the old homeless men outside of CVS. 

Bucky had looked up, no doubt sensing the eyes on him, and they had both stared at each other for a long moment. When neither boy looked like they wanted a fight Steve approached, walking forward and taking up the empty swing next to where Bucky sat. He had had a good day in class, his teacher had liked his charcoal sketches, complimented him on finding the form in the dark ashy material, showing it off to his other peers, and he felt brave; brave enough to approach a strange boy in the dark when he should be going home and trying to scrub the charcoal powder off his skin. They didn’t say anything for a long time. Eventually, Bucky had turned to him and asked in a voice that sounded rough, like he’d been crying, “Do you have a light?”  
And Steve, who was as thin as the chains they were holding, whose lungs couldn’t carry him five blocks without tiring out, reached into his pocket for the rumpled pack of matches he always kept, handy and in habit for when his dad had been alive and needed to smoke, like Bucky did now. 

“’M Steve,” He said after Bucky had seared the end of his shitty cig, after they had sat for a while longer and the kid with the shaggy brown hair and light eyes relaxed against his elevated seat. 

“James Barnes,” He said, turning to Steve and not quite meeting his gaze, “You live in complex C don’t ya?” 

“Yeah,” Steve said, hooking his thumbs in the canvas straps of his bag, “You?” James’ expression was unreadable, maybe even a little sad. 

“I live down the hall,” He said, kicking a bit of mulch, “You’ve probably heard my dad.” Steve wasn’t sure that he had, but later that week there was a domestic disturbance in room 421 complex C and Steve had found Bucky in the park again that night, his hands shaking so hard he couldn’t hold the cig to his lips. Steve had done it for him. He hadn’t asked about his swollen eye, or cracked mouth.  
He had just offered Bucky the only comfort he had to give and sat with him until the younger boy got up and left leaving a trail of stale smoke behind. 

 

• • • 

 

It was raining. 

A rainy, June day, and Steve was sitting at his small desk, pencil in hand and sketches of thumbnails laced with red correction marker covering the surface and bunching at his elbows. It was humid, the steam from the pipes rising up and mixing condensation with the rain. If he listened carefully he could hear his neighbors moving around upstairs, Peggy Carter’s kitten-heels pacing the floor as she settled in after, what Steve assumed, another all-nighter at the office.

The weather outside created a nice, comforting white noise in which to draw but he had lost all inspiration two hours ago, and hadn’t moved to change out of his pajamas since. He had the whole day planned: wake up at 7, go for a run, eat, draw until Sam came home and then they would go out to eat at that new Thai restaurant that had opened a few blocks down. The rain messed up the run, which had made him irritable, and his head and body had felt tired without the extra spruce of endorphins, and here he was four hours later with nothing to show to his client by 11:00am tomorrow. Steve had done editorial illustrations before, but that didn’t mean he liked them, and as he stared down at the article about economic growth concerning loans and “pay days” his head began to hurt increasingly. He needed to get out of the apartment. Thunder rolled overhead, the rain fell harder, and he leaned back in his chair and scowled, as if that could chase the bad weather away. And that’s where Sam found him when he came home at 4:23, Clint trailing wet behind him. 

“Have you moved today?” He asked, shrugging off his soaked parka as Clint weaseled passed, sliding off his boots in the middle of their kitchen and sinking onto the small couch at the end of their tiny living room. 

“You better get dressed,” The man said, voice muffled into the brown suede cushions, “We’re getting noodles.” 

“You better not pass out,” Sam said throwing his parka at Clint’s prone form, “Don’t leave me alone with the sulking artist.” 

“Hah. You’re hilarious,” Steve muttered, stretching and rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands, “So glad you came home early.” Sam crossed over from their kitchen, bracing himself on the back of Steve’s chair and looking over his shoulder. 

“These look good,” He commented, moving back so Steve could stand and make his way into the bathroom to get dressed. 

“Is it cold out?” Steve asked, closing the bathroom door and trying not to shiver as his bare feet hit the cool tiles. 

“Not too bad,” Sam answered, voice a bit muffled through the door, “Wear a jacket.” He wanted to take a shower and wash the slow, mundane feeling of the day off his skin but he could hear Sam pacing in the living room and Clint was mumbling shit into their couch so Steve splashed some cold water on his face and shrugged into some dark wash jeans and a loose white tee and got himself together. It would be a long night, he needed to finish the sketches and waking up early to draw sounded almost as unappealing as an all-nighter, so the sooner they left to eat the sooner they’d be getting back. Clint hadn’t moved, if anything he seemed to have sunken deeper into the furniture and Sam sat, elbows on his knees. His jacket was on so he was ready but he didn’t move to stand when Steve walked in. 

“You guys ready?” Steve asked, slipping on his sneakers and reaching to tug on his weathered parka. 

“Clint…?” Sam probed and Clint shifted so that he could meet Steve’s eyes from where he was laying. 

“I saw Nat with Bruce again today.” He muttered petulantly. Oh. 

“When?” Sam asked and Clint shuffled a little. 

“At lunch. During lunch. He took her out for lunch.” 

“Doesn’t mean they’re together.” Steve said and Clint shot him his most un-amused glare. 

“She was all smiley.” Clint said. 

“She can be happy with her friends, man,” Sam said, stretching out his legs.

“And now she’s got this new hot roommate…” Clint continued dejectedly and Sam shot Steve a look. 

“That was quick. How do you know they’re hot?” Steve asked. Clint gave him an unimpressed stare. 

“Cause Tony said he was.” Steve knew that Clint knew to take Tony’s word with a grain of salt. 

“Look, if you’re this bent why don’t you just ask her if she’s interested in him?” Sam asked.

“God, no, this isn’t high school,” Clint groaned, rolling over onto his back, “I’m just hungry. I need some good food. Where are we going again?” 

“We can talk about this if you need to, Clint.” Steve said gently but Clint was already pushing himself up and trying not to meet his friends’ eyes. 

“Yeah, and I appreciate it, but right now,” Clint reached down to tighten his laces, “I need some greasy food and alcohol so please tell me we can go out tonight.” Steve felt his career, and his health, slipping through his fingers. 

 

/// 

 

They didn’t go out to a bar.

Instead they spent two hours at their booth in the Thai restaurant, drinking beer and talking about Clint’s day, Sam’s, and after the first hour Steve had begun to sink into a buzzed haze that made the rain outside less depressing. Sam, after convincing Clint that it was okay to ask out Natasha, that it wouldn’t be weird, it wouldn’t mess up the dynamics of their friendship (Clint had downed two bottles and promptly told him to “shut up we’re not talking about my feelings anymore”) headed down another four blocks to their local coffee shop. It was a small neighborhood place, with stuffed chairs and yellow lighting and a diverse mix of bodies that reminded Steve why he lived in New York to begin with when upon entering he saw about five people he wanted to draw. 

They sat on a small corduroy olive couch that was tucked against the far wall, perfect view of the counter and its patrons, with large coffee mugs and relaxed shoulders. This had to be the best part of Steve’s day so far, and as he gauged the room, Sam and Clint’s voices faded into the white noise and static from the speakers above them he pulled out his sketchbook and began to draw a man sitting with his back to them across the room. The way he was slumped, hands moving animatedly, slender fingers running through his long hair before eventually, after the older man across from him said something with enough inflection that Steve could feel the emotion in his tone, pulled his hair into a high ponytail. Steve wished he could see his face, his profile maybe, and just as he was focusing on the faded denim of the man’s jacket, his partner got up with a tight-lipped smile and, bracing one hand on the table, reached out with the other to grab hold of the man’s chin. It wasn’t gently, and immediately Steve’s hand stilled over his paper, hovering. 

Sam and Clint had stopped talking, following his gaze along with some of the other patrons.

The man standing was broad shouldered, his eyes world-worn and knowing, and he seemed oblivious to the attention he was attracting. Although, after studying him further, Steve came to the conclusion that he just didn’t care. He didn’t like the look of him. The way he held himself, his small eyes, his self-assured attitude reminded him of all the thirteen to sixteen year old boys that had cornered him in alleys and dealt out black eyes like they were low-end cigarettes.  
The man standing had bent low, speaking under his breath, and after a few minutes he released his hold and gathered up his coat, leaving the coffee shop without a look back. The tension left the air almost as abruptly as it had originally come and everyone turned back to his or her previous conversations without much hesitation. Steve didn’t realize he was still staring at the man until Sam shook his shoulder. 

“Hey, Steve?” Sam asked, shaking him again, “You alright, man?” He felt like he was crawling out of his skin. The man, that gesture, it brought him back to when he was a kid and bandaged Bucky’s hand in a deserted park. He remembered angry words, a red-faced father, unlit cigarettes in the dark. He didn’t know he was moving until he was up, walking toward the man and the empty chair. 

“Hey,” He said, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t scare the guy, “You alright?” The man started, turned in his seat to look up from where he was staring despondently at the sticky wood tabletop. Steve wasn’t expecting much for his day. He certainly wasn’t expecting James Buchanan Barnes to be looking up at him with wide blue eyes and a face much older than Steve remembered. If Steve’s lungs were still weak he was certain he’d need his inhaler. He felt like he did. Bucky looked just as surprised, his shoulders falling in shock, eyes sweeping Steve’s form before meeting his gaze. 

“Steve Rogers?” He asked, voice deeper than Steve had last heard. The nostalgia that welled in Steve’s chest threatened to crack his heart. He couldn’t stop the smile. It was instinct: he’d always smiled when he saw Bucky Barnes. Bucky matched his expression before standing with shaky legs and letting out a laugh that Steve hadn’t known he’d been missing. 

“Fuck, I hardly recognized you.” Bucky breathed, mirth dancing across his features and Steve suddenly forgot how to speak. He felt clumsy and rattled, completely knocked off center. He didn’t think he’d see Bucky again. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do, or what was appropriate. He hardly thought Bucky would appreciate a hug. 

“Do you live in the city?” Steve found himself asking, trying to keep eye contact but shit, it’d been so long and Bucky had changed so much, grown and bulked and carried himself in such a different way that Steve wanted to sit back and catalogue all of it before Bucky was gone from his life again. 

“Yeah, about six blocks from here. I moved from Atlanta about a month ago. I’m guessing you haven’t left?” Steve ignored the dull ache that pulled in his heart, the bitter taste that rose in his mouth. He hadn’t thought about his and Bucky’s last talk when he’d first seen him, but now it was rushing back in short jerky flashes that had him fighting every urge to run. Bucky must’ve sensed the change in his demeanor, because he held up his hands and quickly backtracked. 

“Shit, no, I didn’t mean to word it like that I was just trying to ask–”

“No, you’re right. Haven’t left since Ma passed.” Bucky’s mouth snapped shut, and so many emotions fluttered across his features that Steve didn’t have time to decipher them all. 

“I think of her at least once a week,” He admitted quietly and Steve was caught off guard by the wave of emotion that threatened to drown him. Sarah Rogers was more of a mom to Bucky than his biological one had been, and to hear Bucky say that he still thought of her filled Steve with such a bittersweet dash of joy. 

“How’s Becca?” Steve asked and Bucky’s expression didn’t change except for the hardening of his eyes and the slight downward tilt of his mouth. 

“She’s why I moved back,” Bucky said, shifting on his feet, “After army, um, and after…” He met Steve’s gaze and Steve got that, he could fill in the blanks with his eyes closed, and fuck, Bucky was opening every wound he thought he’d stitched shut, “She’s struggling. I wanted to be here for her.” Steve nodded, placating, although half his mind was remembering how Bucky’s skin tasted and the other was recalling the months he had spent curled up in bed after and– 

“Those your friends?” Bucky asked, effectively ending Steve’s line of thought and he turned and saw Sam and Clint standing a few inches behind him, eyeing Bucky with interest and Steve with mild annoyance. 

“We’ve been trying to get your attention for the past ten minutes,” Clint said, sipping loudly on the meager remains of his vanilla double-shot latte, “You going deaf? You can borrow my aids.” 

“No–I, sorry, um, Buck–” The nickname slipped and for a second Steve was worried Bucky would correct him. He didn’t, simply sidestepped Steve and held out his hand, first to Sam and then to Clint, respectively. 

“James Barnes, it’s nice to meet ya.” There was that smile, that charming lopsided grin that always had Steve’s stomach in knots. He thought that with enough time apart, lost contact and no checking in, that Bucky’s smile would have lost its shine. Would have made him stop feeling like he could melt from how utterly perfect it was–  
Sam seemed to think so too, if his slow gap-toothed leer was anything to go by. Steve knew that look, Sam wore it well, casual, and he clutched Bucky’s hand tight. 

“Sam Wilson. Never seen you around here before.” Bucky gave his hand a shake before pulling back to offer the same gesture of camaraderie to Clint. 

“Not very observant then,” Bucky replied, his smile still in place. He met Steve’s eyes before putting his weight on his left leg, crossing his arms and surveying Sam who was doing the same in a much more obvious, appreciative way. 

“Oh, I’d remember you.” Sam said and Steve was surprised by the jolt of irrational jealousy that zipped through his sternum, striking down the gooey warmth Bucky’s smile had brought. Sam was flirting.

Sam was flirting with Bucky. 

Sam was always flirting with everyone, and although he preferred women in most situations it seemed like that preference did not apply tonight.

It made Steve feel a bit off-kilter, a bit blindsided, and he had to clear his throat to keep himself from saying anything that sounded too bitter. Bucky and him hadn’t even talked in seven years, since they were eighteen, but here he was with all the emotions that Bucky had left him with bubbling to the surface and he needed to shut them up. Maybe it was because Sam was showing interest and he was a territorial, possessive shit or maybe it was because he’d had a long day and seeing Bucky Barnes was making it stretch longer, or maybe it was because the last time he had seen Bucky was when he was heading off to military school and they hadn’t even talked about what had happened the night before and Bucky had just left–just moved on with his life and left, or maybe it was because seeing a strange man handle Bucky the way Bucky’s father had once handled him had him spitting with rage but he was opening his mouth and the words just came tumbling out–

“If you ever need to get reacquainted with New York I’d be happy to show you around. Or just, like, catch up sometime?” Bucky looked up at him with obvious surprise, eyebrows rising, his cocky grin sliding like syrup off his face. Steve didn’t know why he had done that. If Sam and Clint hadn’t approached he probably wouldn’t have offered to see Bucky again. But, having Bucky regard him with those eyes that always saw through his bullshit, he knew deep down that wasn’t true. He wasn’t able to deny Bucky anything when they were young, he certainly couldn’t do it now. But then Bucky was giving him a soft slow smile, grateful, Steve realized, relieved. It made the guilty, bitter part of him crack. It was almost as if Bucky had been expecting Steve to leave too and never contact him again. He’d have reason to think that. Steve resolutely ignored Sam’s curious stare. 

“I’d like that,” Bucky said after a few moments of stretched thin silence, and then he was digging into his jacket and handing Steve his phone, “Add your number. I’ll call you later this week. I have a job interview on Thursday, but other than that I’m pretty free.” Steve typed in his number, added it under ‘Steve Rogers’, and was inexplicably disappointed when he realized his name wouldn’t already be in Bucky’s phone. Seven years. They’d lost seven years. He handed the device stoically back. 

“Well,” Bucky breathed, turning to pick up his empty mug of coffee before turning back, “It was nice to meet you, Sam, Clint,” He turned to Steve and shot him a small timid smile; “I’ll see you around, Steve.” Steve watched him leave, a strange, heavy mixture of emotions tangling his stomach into knots. Bucky placed his mug in the dirty dishes tray before pushing through the glass doors and outside, the loud city traffic flooding in and then cutting muffled behind him. 

“You know him?” Clint asked to get Steve’s attention. 

“I–yeah. We grew up together.” He said, albeit a bit sheepishly. Sam was still staring at him with a curious look, his mind seeming to be trying to piece together Steve’s skittish behavior. 

“When did you lose touch?” He asked and Steve heaved a sigh and rubbed the back of his head. He could practically feel Sam psychoanalyzing him. 

“When we were seventeen. He went to military, I stayed here.”

“You haven’t talked since? Cause with the way you were looking at him I thought–,” 

“Can we not talk about this now? Please?” Steve interrupted, a desperate note in his voice and it must have come across because Sam nodded, expression unreadable. 

“Well, lets call it a night,” Clint said, stretching his arms and looking around the café briefly, “I have an early morning tomorrow. Text me about lunch, Sam.” They parted ways outside of the coffee shop, Clint opting to ride the bus back to his apartment, and Steve needed the air so naturally Sam opted to walk with him. The night had gotten cold but the bite of it helped clear Steve’s head. He felt exhausted, overwhelmed, and his nerves were still making his stomach do flips with each step. Sam didn’t push the subject on their walk back, or when they arrived home. Instead he let Steve go deeper inside his head as he made his way into the bathroom to shower. Steve sat down at his desk with a strange sort of disconnected ease, his hands reaching for his pencils automatically and when he began to draw there was no block, there was no hurdle of imaginative motivation he had to clamber over, his graphite moved and his markers slid and he was drawing without any sort of ramifications. He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there until his phone’s screen lit up with a text from Natasha. 1:34am.

“Fuck,” Steve sighed, scrubbing a hand over his eyes before surveying the sketches before him. He had started off on track, within the first ten sketches his illustration for Diet Weekly was good to show for tomorrow. 

The rest…the rest were Bucky.

The rest was Brooklyn when he was younger.

The rest were parks and rusted swings and melting popsicles and Bucky’s toothy smile. 

The rest was nostalgia and regret and a love he hadn’t let himself feel in years. 

He picked up his last sketch, one of Bucky, one when they were fifteen and Bucky had clambered over Steve, his hair too long that it tickled Steve’s nose, and said, “I’ll be a better man than my dad ever was. I’ll be a better soldier.” Steve had looked up at him like he was the world, like he was the sun, and had said, breathless because staring at something so bright for so long was damn near impossible– “you already are”. 

And then Steve was crying, hunched over his desk, the paper crumbling in his hands, in his too tight grip, he kept quiet, just let his shoulders shake before he sat back and sucked in a deep gulping breath. Closure. They had never gotten it. Steve hadn’t realized how much Bucky was still an open wound until tonight. It had never really healed, Steve had simply patted on a few Band-Aids and some expired Neosporin and called it a night. It was 1:34am and he was crying over Bucky Barnes like he was eighteen again. Another text from Nat and he leaned over and unlocked his phone. He had to read her texts over twice before her words really sunk in. 

_You should have told me you were besties with my new roommate._

_Call me tomorrow._

He called her then. She picked up on the first ring sounding only slightly miffed.

“Why are you still up? I thought you went to bed at like, 8:00.” 

 

“Bucky Barnes is this new roommate you’ve been talking about?” Steve blurted and he could hear cloth rustling, Natasha adjusting herself over her duvet. 

“James? Yeah. I mean, he moved in like two weeks ago, if I had known you guys had some history I would’ve told you sooner.” She said, voice hushed. Steve assumed it was so Bucky couldn’t overhear. 

“You’re fucking with me.” He said.

“No,” She spoke slowly, “I’m not. He has long dark hair? Blue eyes? Lips better than mine? Great dancer?” 

“Yeah that’s…” He couldn’t keep the smile from his face, “That’s him. Wow. This is weird.”

“Not really,” He could pretty much hear Natasha’s shrug, “We haven’t fucked.” Steve choked on air. 

“Wh–Nat!”

“What? That would make it weird. We haven’t fucked. So it’s not weird. I’m glad I found this out now though, cause he is really damn pretty, Steve.” Why were all of his friends (besides Clint  
because, well, he was already hung up on another charmer with red hair and who was currently finding joy in making Steve’s life harder) falling in love with Bucky? 

“I, did he tell you about me?” Steve asked. He didn’t know how to word this question, how to ask Natasha how she had come across this information. 

“Kind of. He came home talking about some hot blonde artist dude that he hadn’t seen in seven years down at Café Carl and I kind of put the pieces together from that.” 

“What,” Steve swallowed before continuing, “What did he say?” Natasha was quiet for a moment, long enough that it got Steve’s hackles rising. 

“Come over for dinner on Tuesday,” She said softly, “Catch up. I want to see you anyway.” Then she hung up. Steve blinked, looking down at his phone to make sure their call didn’t just drop but–nope, okay, she had hung up on him. He debated calling her back but usually when Nat was done with a conversation she was done with a conversation and no amount of calling back could really change that. He looked out over his desktop, his scattered memories in graphite that had felt so good to draw. 

He was suddenly so tired his eyes hurt, his bones ached, and he pushed up from the chair and collapsed onto his bed two minutes later, asleep in his clothes and feeling utterly drained.

 

 

/// 

 

In the morning Sam made pancakes. 

Sunday mornings were always Pancake Day, and usually Steve was up early enough to make them. Today, he wandered into the front room to see Sam over their small stove stacking two plates with a good sizing of buttermilk cakes. He had put chocolate chips in his own, blueberries in Steve’s. Steve made his way over to their coffee maker, pouring himself a cup and smacking his lips at the slightly cooled coffee before leaning against the fridge to watch Sam work. There was a strange tension between them and Steve didn’t know how to break it, or why it was there. Instead he just watched Sam divvy up the cakes onto their own respectable plates and he helped him take them to the couch, where they set up comfortably on the coffee table and ate for the first five minutes in silence. Steve was just appreciating the slightly sour bite to the blueberries, the soft flour of the pancake, before he felt Sam’s eyes on him. 

“You wanna talk about last night?” Sam asked gently and Steve suddenly wasn’t quite as hungry anymore. 

“Not really,” He sighed, leaning back against the couch cushions, “But I will.” Sam was quiet for a moment, considering, before he turned to face Steve fully, drawing his right leg up so that he  
was comfortable. 

“Tell me what you want, I don’t want to force you to talk about anything you don’t want to. Just, you seemed really in your head after, shaken up. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” And shit, now Steve felt like such an asshole. Of course that’s all Sam had wanted. That’s all Sam ever wants. 

“We grew up together,” Steve said, cutting up his pancakes into small pieces he didn’t bring up to bite, “In Brooklyn. Met him when we were, gosh, thirteen? Around that age. We…” Here was the hard part. He didn’t know what they were. He couldn’t speak for Bucky, or where his mind was back then. But he could be honest about himself, like Sam had been for him countless times in the past. And if Steve were really going to be seeing Bucky again it would be good to have someone he could talk to about it. He was definitely going to need the support, if last night’s emotional break down was any indication. 

“I liked him,” He said and the words were so small and fragile that he could barely hear himself, “Or, I thought I did. He wanted me to move with him to Georgia where he was going to start training for the military. Basics. I thought he was running away because he was scared. We had a huge fight, a stupid, stupid fight and I was such an ass, Sam. I was–,” He took a deep breath to steady himself before continuing, “He left. The next morning and we lost touch. So seeing him again, after all of that, just…really shook me up.” He hoped Sam wouldn’t pick up on the gaps in his story. He hoped he wouldn’t see straight through Steve and ask, “And that was it? Five years of friendship down the drain over one fight? That’s all it took?” because Steve wouldn’t be able to talk about that night in any fuller detail. He wasn’t about to open up to Sam about how he had started falling for Bucky the moment puberty struck, about how the first time Bucky became _Bucky_ was when his best friend’s fingers were sticky from watermelon juice and he was laughing like Steve was the greatest thing he’d ever found. Despite the pain the memories brought talking about it helped. 

He felt lighter already. 

“Do you want him to be in your life again?” Sam asked, voice gentle, “Because if so you two seem to have a lot of talking to do. As adults, not teenagers.” 

“I know,” Steve, said, pushing his food around, “I’m still thinking about it.” Sam hummed, taking another bite of pancake. 

“I think closure is good. At least get everything out on the table, clarify what happened, and be honest. Communicate. And then go from there. It’s obvious you’re still hurting, Steve. And James seems like a good guy. I don’t know him, and really you don’t know the man he’s become, but, if you’re still thinking about him, I’d say a nice heart-to-heart would be good.” Steve looked over, regarded Sam and his warm eyes and kind smile and couldn’t help but feeling himself tear up. He shot him a grateful look. 

“Thank you, Sam. Really. I needed to talk about this with someone.” Sam shrugged, shoveling another lump of chocolate batter into his mouth. 

“Anytime man. Now talk to _him_.”

 


	2. Tacos and Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky go shopping. Clint is a stalker now, apparently. Sam's just trying to hold his own life together.

The call from Natasha came around noon on Monday. 

Steve would be lying if he said he didn’t knock over the lamp and his glass of orange juice to answer it.

“That was fast,” She said, and Steve tried to keep down the embarrassed flush from dusting his cheeks even though he knew she couldn’t see him, which didn’t mean she couldn’t tell, Natasha was freakishly insightful.

“Hey,” He said, a bit breathless, his heart racing tenfold in his chest, hammering against his ribs. He hadn’t heard from Bucky, and he tried to talk away the disappointment by convincing himself he wasn’t expecting to. There was that small, thirteen year old part of him though that was upset it was Natasha he was hearing from first. 

“Can you come over around six tomorrow? I think we’re just going to have tacos, something easy.” She said and Steve tried to focus on what she was talking about but his mind was moving a mile a minute to try and match the rhythm of his heart. 

“Yeah, yeah I can do that.” He said.

“You can invite Sam over too, and Clint. I called Bruce so Tony may swing by…” His heart stuttered. 

“Oh.” Natasha stopped talking long enough for Steve to realize he hadn’t sounded too enthralled. 

“Is that a problem?” She asked.

“No! No, of course not, no, it’s–,” 

“Did you just want to see James?” Steve’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click. He tried swallowing to rid the panic from rising up his throat. Ideally, it would just be the two of them. But his brain was saying that this way was easier, more people to fill in if there happened to be an awkward lull, more people if Steve needed to leave, more people if Bucky didn’t want to be there anymore, more people if…more people if… _more people if…!_

“I’m fine with seeing everyone, Nat, really. It’s fine.” He said. He didn’t even sound convincing to himself. 

“I don’t believe you but you’re a big boy, so you’d tell me if it really is a problem wouldn’t you?” She drawled and he bristled at her tone. 

“Yeah.” 

“So we’re all good for tomorrow?” 

“Yes.” 

“You bringing Sam? Clint? I need to know so I can send James shopping.” Steve should’ve just said yes again, hung up and left it at that. But– 

“I can go shopping with him. If that’s easier.” Natasha was silent. Then, muffled –“James! You cool going shopping with Steve?” 

There was some rustling on the other end, a deeper voice and Natasha was back on the line, “Yeah that’s fine. He’s going to text you his number, you two can figure out the details. But don’t get sidetracked. Dinner is at six. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Then the call cut off and Steve was left standing, palms sweaty, heart drumming, in the middle of his room in nothing but his boxers and a ratty t-shirt. His phone vibrated thirty seconds later. 

_Hey. It’s me. When did you want to go tomorrow?_

It took Steve a good fifteen minutes before he felt calm enough to respond. 

**What are your plans? You free around 10?**  
…  
…

_Sure. Where should I meet you?_

**Café Carl?**

…

_Sounds good. See you then._

He dropped his phone onto his bed and collapsed down with a heavy sigh beside it. He decided that counting the cracks in his ceiling was a lot more interesting and important than paying attention to his feelings. 

“Fuck,” He sighed, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, “Fuck.” He lay there for at least an hour. He didn’t text Clint. When Sam came trudging in from the VA at seven, eyes tired and shoulders tense, he didn’t invite him. Steve didn’t try to read too deep in his motivations for doing so. 

/// 

“Fuck,” Bucky hissed, dropping his head into his hands on the counter. Natasha sat across from him, a worried line between her brows as she took a slow sip of her beer. 

“You’re really beating yourself up over this, aren’t you?” She asked and Bucky raised his head only when he thought he could control his expression. 

“Nat, I’m still working through the fact that he wants to even see me. But errands together? Dinner? I just–I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” Natasha regarded him, and she reached out, lightly gripping his wrist with her hand, thumbing over the bone with a tenderness that had Bucky looking up to meet her gaze. 

“If I were you,” She said, speaking slowly, as though Bucky was some kind of spooked animal (in a way he was), “I would just focus on the now. Be in the moment with him. Talk about the past, find some resolution in it, and then let it go. You have to let it go, James. You’re breaking your back over this.” He let out a heavy sigh, as though all the tension in his body was leaving with that last whoosh of air. 

“I know. Yeah, I–just …nerves. Shit I can do a tour in Iraq steady-handed but grocery shopping is making me want to piss myself?” Natasha let out a snort, withdrawing her hand and passing Bucky the rest of her beer for him to finish off. She glanced at his watch (he rarely used his phone to check the time, and she found it both endearing and a bit irritating) before turning her attention back to him. She’d only know James–Bucky– for a total of a month, but it’s felt like longer, the natural charm he carried making her feel at ease with someone who was similar to herself. 

“I’m meeting Bruce for dinner in about ten minutes. You going to be alright?” He looked up at her with an expression that was half amused exasperation and annoyance. Only he could really pull it off without looking constipated. 

“I’m not six, Natalia, I’ll be okay,” He did smile though, eyes softening as he drank the last dregs of her beer, “So is dinner going to be considered a date this time?” 

“Oh god, not you too,” She sighed, pushing away from the counter and into their living room, bending down to pull her heels from under the couch. 

“Hey,” He said, straightening up and pointing the now empty bottle at her, “You ask about my life I can ask about yours. Roommate rule #3.” 

“I don’t want to know how many rules you have,” She muttered, zipping up her shoes before standing with a flick of her hair and grabbing her jacket. 

“It’s obvious he likes you,” James was saying, watching her with those sharp eyes that had been staring down a sharpshooter for two years, “You need to be straight with him eventually.”

“He’s sweet, and we get along,” Natasha said, sliding her purse over her shoulder, “That’s what I’m focusing on right now. If he actually asks me out then I’ll make my decision. Until then, I’m going to have a nice dinner.” Bucky sent her a crooked grin, sighing as he stepped around the counter and flopped down unceremoniously onto their couch, toeing off his boots and propping his long legs up on the arm. 

“Can’t complain about free food. Have fun, you look smokin’, bring me back some fries?” And there was that boyish look and the small dimple in his chin that deepened when he smiled like that and _hell_ , it was easy to see why Steve fell for him. Natasha felt a part of herself tripping over already. 

“I will if you pick up more cookies n’ cream tomorrow,” She opened the door, waiting for his nod before letting it fall shut. He listened until he couldn’t hear her anymore before gritting his teeth and settling deeper into the cushions of the couch. 

He debated calling Becca, but he had talked to her twice today already and the last time she had told him to _“stop calling me, Buck, I’m not going to kill myself if you don’t check in every five minutes,”_ so instead he ordered some Chinese from the take-out menus him and Natasha keep in the spare drawer by the spoons and watched Seinfeld until the characters dialogue began to blur with the grease from his veggie Lo Mein. 

He turned off the TV and lay in silence. He thought about masturbating, because it was 11:00pm and Nat wouldn’t be home soon and he had nothing else to do, but just when his thumb traced the metal of his belt his phone rang. He didn’t check the caller ID; just swiped it unlocked and held it to his ear. 

“Hello?” He asked, sitting up against the pillows. There was a long silence, and for a moment Bucky thought the person had dialed the wrong number. He was about to hang up– 

“James.” And froze. Brock. That was…

“James?” He hung up. He hung up and stuffed his phone under the couch and stood for a good twenty minutes in the middle of his living room with his skin prickling and his fingers flexing. He wasn’t going to panic. He remembered what his therapist had told him, so he sat down on the floor, tried to ground himself as literally as he could. Deep breath in, hold for 3, then out, hold for 10, repeat…deep breath in…hold…let it out…repeat…repeat…

Five minutes later he threw up in the sink. 

/// 

Natasha liked Bruce.

She didn’t see any reason why she would need to put an acute label on what they were– _friends, they were friends_. They were at a nice pizza joint uptown, and by nice she meant she hadn’t seen any roaches or rats scurrying about. Also it had a fair amount of customers inside so she hadn’t been too opposed to going in. And pizza sounded nice, all the more so since, and she loved James, but she was somewhat needed the junk food as an extra burst of energy. 

James had been down lately, and she knew about his sister to an extent, and his infatuated ex he mentioned once in brief passing: “if a tall ripped man comes up to our apartment building hit him with a skittle and call the police”, so yeah she needed some cheese and bread and a gentleman to relax tonight. The restaurant was narrow and long, wedged between another apartment complex and one that had a psychic set up on the first and second floor. Natasha had passed by it a couple times before but had never gone in. The inside walls were lined with white counters and tall red leather bar stools, only two or three actual tables were placed in the back along the kitchen. 

“I was wondering why we weren’t going to your place,” Natasha commented, leaning her weight over the table they were seated at in the back of the restaurant, the yellow lighting somewhat harsh and unflattering over their heads.

“Ah,” Bruce laughed, licking a smudge of red sauce off his thumb, “Yeah. I’m realizing now that living with Tony is costing me almost as much as living on my own.” 

“How many times has he burned down the kitchen now? Three?” Bruce laughed; shaking his head and adjusting his glasses with a gracefulness that didn’t quite match his awkward disposition. 

“I’d say closer to six.” Bruce said, nudging the last slice of pizza Natasha’s way. See? A gentleman. She took it with a grin and ate half within the first bite.

“This is nice though,” She said, chewing thoughtfully, “I haven’t had a good slice of pizza in ages.” 

“Really?” Bruce asked, eyebrows rising, “It’s all Tony and I eat.” 

“Yeah, well, you two never sleep either so that doesn’t surprise me.” Bruce opened his mouth to say something before his brows furrowed and he was leaning over to look past Natasha’s shoulder. 

“What?” She asked and he raised his hand to push his glasses up before answering. 

“Isn’t that your friend Barton?” She turned so fast her neck popped and _yeah,_ okay, yeah there was Clint, looking in through the window and when their eyes met he visibly froze before _just going along with the fact that she had caught him spying_ and began waving as he made his way into the restaurant, the little bell over the door signaling his unnecessary and unexpected arrival. 

“Hey!” He chirped, coming up to their table and rolling back on his heels, “Funny running into you two!” Natasha narrowed her eyes, dropping the rest of her slice down onto the grease stained paper plate. 

“You live on the other side of town, what are you doing here?” She asked and if she hadn’t known Clint for years she would have missed the slight paling of his face. She was sure Bruce had missed it. 

“Nice to see you, Banner,” Clint deflected, holding out his hand for Bruce to hesitantly shake, “I was picking up a pizza.” 

“Oh yeah?” Natasha crossed her arms, eyes flicking up and down his form “You have plans tonight?” 

“Sam and I are having a late night at the office.”

“This place delivers. And Sam gets off work at six.” 

“I¬–yeah, it’s–,” 

“It’s eight, Clint. Also you don’t work together.”

“Right.” She could feel a headache beginning to form. 

“Would you like to join us?” Bruce asked and Natasha’s mouth clicked shut. Clint’s expression brightened considerably, a mischievous childish glint growing in his eyes. 

“I’d love to yeah– ‘scuse me, just getting this chair…thanks, yeah,” He pulled a stool over, towering over the two of them like a bird in a perch, but very happy and smiling and Natasha handed him her crust for him to eat. This was her night then, which, really, she didn’t mind in the slightest. Bruce left around eleven, and Natasha stood and kissed his cheek and thanked him for dinner while Clint patted his shoulder and slunk into his now empty chair. 

“I know what you’re doing,” Natasha said once Banner had left, and Clint simply raised his brows and adjusted himself in the seat. 

“I don’t know what you’re getting at,” He said, his voice a lazy lull, “But I’m going to get us some more pizza.” 

/// 

“Steve, you need to either sit down or go pace in your room you’re starting to make _me_ nervous!” Sam sniped from over the back of the couch. 

“Sorry, sorry! I’m meeting him in twenty minutes I’m kind of freaking out…” 

“Look, man, Jesus, come here. Sit down.” He did, pouting the entire time, and the instant he sat himself down in the armchair his leg was bouncing uncontrollably, shaking the whole living room. 

“We’re going to do some breathing exercises.” 

“Sam, those don’t work for me.”

“Yeah, cause you never finish them.” 

“Do you have any Xanax?” 

“Stop.”

“Maybe I could just go for a quick run?”

“Maybe you could just _shut up_ and do these breathing exercises with me.” 

He did.  
And ten minutes later he was ten minutes early outside of Carl’s Café and he felt less like he was suffocating and more like the air around him was thinning every few seconds. He saw Bucky before Bucky saw him and he really did, for a moment, forget that oxygen was something he needed to _live_. He was almost blind sighted by seeing him. 

Bucky had grown up, _he’d grown_ , and his long legs and bright eyes were infatuating, even from this distance, even when he yawned into his elbow and crossed the street with a slight stumble. He was wearing a thin white shirt, the end of the sleeves peaking out from the cuffs of his leather jacket. Dark wash jeans over worn black Doc Martens made him look like he’d never left New York, like he walked out of every fantasy Steve had ever had about anyone. He pulled down his aviators so they were shielding his eyes but Steve could tell when he saw him. He smiled, shy, and lifted his hand to give a small wave. Steve felt like his heart was about to pop against his ribs. 

“Hey,” Bucky said as he approached, stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets and stopping a safe distance away. 

“Hi,” Steve said, as breathless as if Bucky had just cut off all air. 

“You’re gonna have to lead the way,” Bucky said, shoulder shrugging, “I don’t know where we’re headin’, and it’s a bit different than Brooklyn. We never really came Uptown Manhattan that often.” Steve was dying. Dying. He could admit that easily. 

“No,” He breathed, “No we didn’t.” And then he was just standing there staring at Bucky like he was everything (he was) and not saying anything and Bucky must be growing a bit uncomfortable because he cleared his throat in a forced soft cough and Steve snapped back into himself. 

“Oh! Yeah, hah, yeah, um, lets go.” He hated how flustered he sounded. Apparently there was no helping that and Bucky fell into step alongside him. He followed him down the streets, across blocks, the sun warm on their backs and Steve wished, for another security blanket if anything, that he had brought his sunglasses as well. He couldn’t stop staring at Bucky. He hadn’t shaved, a light stubble dusting his jaw and making it look all the sharper. He was beautiful. Fuck, he really was, and Steve couldn’t really believe that this was happening. That Bucky, Bucky, was walking down New York City streets with him again. 

They didn’t talk much; just pleasantries until they grew quiet and continued on in a somewhat comfortable, somewhat awkward silence. It was a weird feeling. Part of him wanted to just take Bucky and kiss him senseless (maybe a bit rough, Bucky had always gone boneless whenever Steve had pulled his hair, when he had ripped–okay, no enough). Another part wanted them to sit down and talk in detail about everything that had happened and where they were going now with this relationship or whatever they were trying to re-fix again. The grocery store Steve was taking them to was small and tucked away in The Village, right by his favorite bakery, and he led Bucky in by holding the door and trying not to stare as the slightly shorter man made his way inside. 

“Alright, what do we need to pick up?” Bucky asked, turning to address Steve over his shoulder. 

“Nat didn’t tell you?” He returned and Bucky bit his bottom lip in thought. Steve had hoped he’d dropped that habit. 

“Not really, no. Let me think…we have lettuce, and cheese…let’s just get some beans, taco shells, flavoring, the works, we’ll just get all of it. Better safe than sorry.” Bucky said, turning around so he could read the signs hanging above the aisles. Steve almost wanted to just blurt out: “Why did you leave? Why did you come back? How long were you in the army? Are you hurt? Are you okay? What can I do to make sure that no one and nothing hurts you ever again?” He bit down on all of that, on all the heavy topics that he was itching to ask but didn’t want to bombard Bucky with. Not when he still thought that Bucky being here again was a dream. 

They walked down the aisles, and Steve tried to find as many of the needed items on sale, Bucky watching him with a look that seemed to say, “you really still do this?” They left the grocery with some fruit, lettuce, taco mix and seasoning, shells (both soft and hard) and some chocolates for desert, the darker the better for Bucky. It was such a domestic errand that the two hadn’t done together since they were fifteen. The sky was overcast, a wash of grey clouds over a trying blue sky, and while it was hot and slightly humid, it was nice. Steve wouldn’t wish the day to change. 

“Steve?” Bucky asked and Steve dropped every thought in his head to give all his attention to Bucky. His sunglasses were back on but there was a tick to his jaw that had Steve’s nerves prickling. 

“You okay?” Steve wondered, and Bucky looked up at him with a twist at the corner of his mouth. 

“Should we talk?” 

“What?”

“Should we…I dunno, I–I want us to be on the same page and when I left we weren’t, we weren’t even in the _same book_ anymore, and I–” 

“Yeah,” Steve interrupted, because Bucky was floundering and he had always been kind of shitty with voicing what he wanted (his dad was to blame for that, the majority of Bucky’s self-hate was to blame for that), “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.” Bucky seemed to visibly relax, a slow smile pulling up his red lips. 

“’Cause I know the eighteen year old you but I want to know this twenty-four year old New York artist too.” Bucky’s tone was soft and delicate and it washed Steve in a rain that had the world smudging around them. Bucky stopped and lifted the hand that wasn’t holding the spicy taco mix and gripped Steve’s upper arm, causing the two of them to still in the middle of the sidewalk. His touch was scalding. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, swallowing as his brows furrowed, “I want to start off there. I’m so so _so_ , sorry Stevie, I–,” 

“Is Natasha home?” Steve cut in and Bucky’s hand fell away as he took in a deep breath. 

“No, yeah, not in public…” 

“I just…Buck, I don’t want to cause a scene. You know I’m an awful crier.” Steve said and Bucky let out a wet laugh, shaking his head and turning so Steve couldn’t see him wipe under his eyes. 

“Lets go,” Steve said, beginning to walk, “Subway or foot?” Bucky’s nose wrinkled predictably. 

“Subway, please.” 

/// 

 

Steve had been in Natasha’s apartment before. 

But he hadn’t seen it since Bucky moved in and the change in energy was astounding. The windows were open instead of drawn, there were more books on the selves, sci-fi novels that were worn and yellow-paged. The kitchen just looked fuller, like Bucky had walked in, saw Natasha’s working-and-no-eating habit, and had bought the whole grocery to make sure that even if she was pouring over law transactions at 2am she’d have food handy to eat and Steve was struck by an image of Bucky and Becca sitting at their small dining table, Bucky pushing apples for his sister to eat as he checked over her math equations. 

Bucky moved passed him with an ease and familiarity that was still just as strange to Steve as him living here, kicking off his boots and making his way into the kitchen. He shrugged out of his jacket, folding it atop of the island separating the living room from the kitchen. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” He asked and Steve realized he had frozen in place. Sheepishly, he closed the door, shoving his hands into his jeans and cautiously making his way into the living room. 

“Water would be great.” He said and watched as Bucky moved about to get two glasses: water for Steve (no ice and half a lemon, and Steve hadn’t had his water like that in years) and a diet cola for Bucky. Bucky’s white t-shirt was a bit big but it still stretched across the expanse of his shoulders as he moved, still rode up a little to show the waistband of black Calvin Klein’s. Steve adverted his gaze to his hands and picked at his cuticles until Bucky handed him his water and he took it with a quiet ‘thanks’. Bucky sat down next to him on the couch, enough space between them that it didn’t feel too personal, and cleared his throat. 

“You still have your dad’s dog-tags?” Steve found himself blurting and Bucky’s glass stilled frozen halfway to his lips. 

“I–no. We starting there then?” Bucky tried to go for teasing but his tone was tight and Steve immediately shook his head and took a gulping glass of cool sour water. 

“No. Not if you don’t want, I’m sorry, I’m nervous, um,” And great, he was babbling and Bucky was staring at him, eyes piercing and Steve was suddenly thirteen again and shit–

“I can go first? If you’d like?” Bucky offered gently, shifting on the couch so he could face Steve. Steve was sure he looked as pale as the lemon in his water. His hands were shaking, his heart was having an asthma attack, and Bucky was sitting next to him looking beautiful and collected, and the guilt that had been eating Steve alive for years was stifling. 

“Steve, hey, pal, you okay? You have your inhaler?” Bucky asked, scooting closer and Steve hadn’t meant for this “closure” talk to begin with him embarrassing the hell out of himself. 

“I’m good, sorry, I’m good,” He tried to amend but his voice sounded weak to his own ears. 

“Steve we don’t have to–,” 

“Can I start maybe? And not…not everything, I just, the night before you left,” He began and Bucky tensed beside him, “I want to talk about that first.” Bucky was silent for a long long time, face expressionless before he ran a hand through his hair. 

“Okay.” Bucky said, shielding his eyes, “Okay. You still want to start?” Knowing that Bucky was nervous, that he was scared, seemed to help calm Steve, if only a little and he couldn’t look at Bucky, not yet, as he began. 

“We, the last time we had sex,” He started, stopped, had to remind himself to breathe even though his lungs were fine now, “I thought you’d changed your mind about leaving. And I…I thought you were going to stay with me here. Like we’d talked about when we were fourteen. I understand now that you had to leave for you. That you had to prove to yourself that you could do and be better than your dad and the army was the physical proof of that…I understand now, Bucky, but back then I didn’t. I was selfish.” 

“Steve, you weren’t–,” 

“I was. You always supported me. You…God, Buck, you helped me pay for my art classes for _three years_ and I couldn’t support you because you were all I had and I couldn’t lose you. And I thought you leaving would do that. I thought you would forget about me, or die or–I thought you leaving to find yourself meant you were leaving because I was holding you back. That you’d grown up from me.” Bucky made a hurt sound, aborted in his throat but it was loud enough that Steve stopped talking and met Bucky’s eyes. He was crying, which shouldn’t have surprised Steve as much as it did. Blue eyes clear and glassy, his pupils dilated, and he was rubbing his hand over to try and hide it. 

“I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry–,” Bucky started then cut himself off and Steve moved without thinking, gently taking Bucky’s wrists and holding them in his hands. He didn’t want him hiding.

“I understand now Bucky. I said some really nasty things to you and I thought that if I were harsh enough, it would make you leaving easier. It didn’t. It just made me an ass and I’m sorry. There hasn’t been a day where I haven’t thought about you.” 

Bucky crumbled and Steve pulled him in and it was like the past five years had never happened. It was so easy to hold Bucky. It was so easy to cup the back of his neck and steady him with a hand between his shoulder blades. It was so easy to let Bucky tuck his nose into the crook of his neck and try to regulate his breathing with his own. It was easy because Bucky had held Steve like this so many times it felt right to finally return the favor. When Bucky pulled away he looked embarrassed but he didn’t move back to the other end of the couch. He gave a weak self-deprecating laugh and groaned over-dramatically into his hands. 

“My turn?” He asked, voice rough. Steve’s heart ached. Wordlessly, he nodded. 

“Army was giving back everything my dad took from me. I wanted to show Becs I could be as strong as him that a man could be in a masculine driven field and not throw you down the stairs. I wanted to prove to myself that I was worth something. Dad always said I was a faggie because I liked to read. I…I wanted to prove him wrong. There was that childish part of me that always wanted to spit back at him. Leaving you was terrible. I…I’ve come so close to calling you, everyday, and I didn’t leave because of you. I left because New York was too small and I had no talents and life was moving forward for everyone except me and I just had to get out. Do you get that, Steve, I had to leave or I was going to drown…” He heaved a heavy breath, he was talking so fast that Steve was a bit impressed he had been able to take all that in. 

“I understand, Buck.” 

“That’s all I wanted, back then. Was for you to get it and have my back. I was so angry with you. A part of me still is.” It hurt to hear but Steve needed to hear it. There was an angry part of him too. But hearing Bucky’s side cleared it up a little. Knowing that he had left because of himself, not because Steve couldn’t amount to standing alongside him, was relieving. More than relief, Steve felt relaxed down to his bones. He had never thought highly of himself. Bucky was the only person who had showed him that he could be strong. Losing him was like all of his worst thoughts toward himself coming to life. Being confirmed. To know that wasn’t it– He wasn’t about to cry now. He didn’t need both of them in tears when Natasha came home. 

“Does it hurt, being around me?” Steve asked and Bucky looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes and Steve could see the exhaustion there. It struck him then, just how old Bucky looked, just how tired he was. Steve wanted to know what happened in the army. If he was ever shipped out or assigned a desk job. Now wasn’t the time to ask. 

“Yes,” Bucky answered truthfully, and it hurt to hear him say it, “But more-so because we could have solved this five years ago but we’re both too fucking stubborn to pick up the phone.” Steve didn’t say that everyday since Bucky left he had dialed his number, but never called. Written letters that he never sent. They were just scratching the surface, with all of this. 

“You?” Bucky asked. 

“Yeah,” Steve said, “Doesn’t change anything though.” 

“Change what?”

“That I still want you in my life,” Bucky blinked; obviously take aback, “However much you want to be in it.” Bucky sat in his words, let them wash over and he breathed them in like he did those shitty Marlboro cigarettes. 

“I…I want to be friends again.” Bucky said. Steve thought of how he used to know Bucky’s sensitive spots, how he used to know exactly how his skin tasted. How he used to know how Bucky looked when he came. 

“I want that too.” Steve said. Bucky smiled, his first relaxed real smile in what felt like years. Maybe it was. 

“Wanna wreck the kitchen?” Bucky asked, his grin going crooked and youthful and so fucking mischievous that Steve couldn’t help his laugh. 

“Still burn everything you touch, Barnes?” He teased as Bucky hefted himself off the couch, swaying his hips because he knew Steve was watching. There was nothing sensual about it, just Bucky being himself, being comfortable, and Steve followed his movements with open adoration. 

“Hey. I still make the meanest quesadilla you’ve ever tasted, pal.” He returned and Steve got to his feet, glass now in hand, and leaned against the counter as Bucky took out all the needed ingredients. 

“I won’t argue that,” Steve said, taking a slow drink of water, “But I will stand by you burning everything else.” Bucky shot him a look, shaking out the lettuce in the sink before he began washing vegetable off. 

“You gonna stand there yapping all day or help me?” He chided and Steve felt so happy and light and warm that he didn’t even poke fun back. 

/// 

 

Natasha came home tired, and one look at the two grown men in her kitchen covered in taco seasoning and smashed shells had her stopping in the doorway and seriously debating turning around and walking back out. 

But hearing Bucky openly laugh, and seeing Steve smile like she’d never seen him smile before had her stopping and staring, not even thinking to kick off her heels. Because while she hadn’t known Barnes for long she had never seen him look so at ease, and Steve was looking like he found the greatest treasure man had yet to see. When they noticed her they at least had the decency to look a bit guilty.

“Natasha! Ah, sorry about the mess, we just–,” Steve began before Bucky turned like an excited puppy and interrupted. 

“He’s not allowed back in our apartment, Tasha, look at the mess he–!”

“ _Me?_ I think you may have hit your head on the counter–,”

“Oh, yeah, blame it on me, Rogers, how _big_ of you!”

“I’m not–!”

“Honestly you’re acting like a chi–,” 

“I’ll order Chinese,” Natasha said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is becoming a lot of fun to write. Comments keep me going, I love hearing what you guys think!


	3. Crushes and Ex's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony likes whipped cream, Bruce likes quiet, and Steve just wants the party to end. But wait, not like that!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. SO. I wanted to wait a week in between uploading new chapters to like, keep people waiting and build suspense but I wrote this as I was stranded in Orlando's airport this past weekend and…I got excited to share it why you guys, OK?? 
> 
> I'll start the week thing after this chapter. (Maybe).

Tony Stark was not a patient man.

Now, don’t let it be said that he didn’t try, he did, really he did, but when it was 10am on a Wednesday morning and all he wanted was a large caramel macchiato with extra foam and whole milk and hit the seven minute waiting mark he had begun to lose his patience. It’s only New York City. The fucking baristas should be used to unimaginable crowds. He should’ve just figured out how to use the cappuccino machine he’d bought Bruce for his last birthday. 

So here he was walking around the counter, leaning against the barrier and rapping his knuckles against the admittedly hot (he wasn’t about to flinch away that would totally ruin the effect) espresso machine. The man steaming milk looked up with one raised brow and an annoyance in his eyes that was already a deep set “look” for his day. Tony would feel bad under any other circumstance. But. 

“You making my drink?” He asked, pushing up his shades and leaning boldly against the counter’s door. The barista had an impressive glare, Tony would credit him that. 

“What’s your name?” The man asked, and Tony actually took a moment to notice the messy bun, the blue eyes and red lips. Hm. 

“Stark.” He said. The man glanced down at the hot cup in his hands. 

“Yeah this is yours. It’ll be out in fifteen seconds.” 

“Can I get some extra whip cream on that? And also I’m in a hurry _so_ …” 

“Sure. But that’ll make it take a second longer.” The hipster barista said and oh, okay, so that was a joke and Tony wrinkled his nose against it. 

“God, you’re really setting me back here.” He grumbled and hot hipster barista laughed under his breath before pouring the milk in a metal pitcher and steaming it, first with a loud hiss that fizzled into a soft hum. 

“Say when.” He said, holding the whip cream canister over the top of Tony’s drink and spraying it out. Tony, because he was a shit, kind of wanted to see if the guy was going to stop before he said “when”, if he wouldn’t let it spill all over the counter and stack up ridiculously high, but he waited for Tony’s “when”, even if it was unreasonable and spilling all over the counter and ridiculously high. 

“You can’t blame me if the lid doesn’t fit.” Barista man-bun said, already turning to prepare the next drink in line. Tony liked him. He scooped up a bit of the white cream and waited until the man looked over before popping it into his mouth. 

“Ciao,” He said, spinning on his heels and tossing a limp wave over his shoulder.

///

Bruce liked to work in quiet. 

Which is why he was glad Tony had an office to tinker in. But Bruce had Wednesdays off (his schedule was a bit fucked but Howard Stark was lenient to Tony’s friends, especially if those friends kept his son from being arrested and talked him out of jumping across rooftops like a madman when he was drunk), so he worked at his desk until noon where he meditated in the living room before heading out to have lunch with Natasha. Today though, Tony seemed to have off.

Or just didn’t want to go into work which was more believable. 

“Hey, Jamba Juice!” Tony’s voice shattered through their apartment, and Bruce let his head fall onto the papers in front of him in defeat. There was no way he was going to get any work done now. He didn’t need to answer Tony because the man was leaning in his doorway not ten seconds later, a hot to-go cup in his hands and his sunglasses hanging low over the bridge of his nose. 

“What’re you doing working, it’s your day off. You’re making me look bad, stop it.” 

“Why aren’t you at work?” Bruce asked, turning in his swivel chair to face his roommate and albeit best friend. Tony shrugged, sipping loudly at his drink…and the insane amount of melting whip cream around the brim. 

“How much sugar have you had today?” He asked, eyes narrowing and Tony simply waved a passive hand in his general direction. 

“Doesn’t matter. I think it would help our work flow if we re-decorated our apartment.” He was talking faster than usual. 

“You get a caramel macchiato again?” 

“We can move your bed– **no** , we can _stack_ our beds, save room, transform the soon to be spare room into–,”

“I’m not moving my bed.”

“Fine, I’ll move mine. Sheesh, Banner, no need to be so prissy _I’d_ move _my_ bed for _you_ –,” 

“Steve called.” Bruce interrupted and that got Tony’s attention, his eyebrows shooting up. 

“Did he now? About what?” Tony mulled. 

“Your party.” When Tony showed no sign of recognition Bruce rubbed at his temples and tried to control his breathing. 

“You’ve been talking about it for the past two weeks? You said that it was going to be so grand that _Ryan Reynolds_ –,” 

“OH. Yeah, okay, what’d he say?” 

“He said he’s not going to make it.” Tony’s eyes narrowed, lips pursing. 

“What?”

“He…said he’s not coming.” Tony was quiet for a long long time before heaving a heavy sigh and flopping himself, and his very messy drink, onto Bruce’s just made bed. 

“God, I swear, the old man is never out doing anything…” 

“Maybe he has plans?” Bruce offered and Tony barked out a harsh laugh and shook his head. 

“Nah, he’s coming. I’ll drag him out myself,” He sat up abruptly, suddenly serious, and it always made Bruce a bit weary when he got in one of his sugar-high, “change the world” moods, “He needs to have fun. He needs to get laid. He needs to take the stick out of his ass for one day of the week. Guy doesn’t even drink.” 

“I mean, he does, he’s just not a lightweight–,” Bruce mumbled but Tony was talking over him in an instant. 

“You’re off today, right?” Bruce needed to meditate. And some Advil. 

“Tony–,” 

“Good. Get dressed we live in ten.” And then he was gone; the only sign that he had ever been there was some discarded specks of whip cream and the new wrinkles in Bruce’s sheets.

///

Steve opened his door just as Tony was knocking on it. 

Tony’s hands rapped against Steve’s forehead and Bruce could practically feel the sullen realization take over Steve’s form. 

The blonde blinked, took a step back, and Tony took that as invitation to saunter inside. Bruce stood awkwardly in the doorway, hands in his pockets and when Steve turned to him with a slightly bewildered, “really?” look he felt the need to apologize.

“Sorry, about this. He’s hyper.” Steve sighed, smiling lightly before he stepped aside to let Bruce into his apartment. Tony was already making himself at home, looking through the cabinets and settling his skittish hands on an opened back of chocolate chips. Fuck, Bruce was going to have to keep him on a leash… 

“So, Cap, you’re not coming to my hoopla?” Tony asked around a mouthful of chocolate and Steve had the patience of a saint, really he did. 

“Can’t. I have plans.” He said. Tony hummed, walking around the kitchen island so that he could face Steve fully.

“Plans? When this has been planned for _two weeks_?”

“I’m sorry, Tony, but I–,” 

“You have a date?” Tony interrupted and Steve seemed to stumble around his tongue, cheeks flushing red. Huh. 

“No! No I don’t–,” 

“Because the only reason you could give that would make missing my party kind- of-less-hurtful is if you were getting some, which you could be doing anyway. At my party.” 

“I’m having drinks with an old friend,” Steve said, jaw hardening before his eyes widened and he glanced down at his watch, “Shit, I’m late, look, Tony, I really gotta–,” 

“Bring your date.” Tony said. Steve froze. 

“What?”  
“Bring your date to my party. They’re cordially invited.”

“I want to keep this person in my life, not scare them away,” Steve said, sighing under his breath as he made his way to the door, “I don’t trust you alone in my apartment–No offence Bruce, you’re fine–so can we table this discussion for another time?” 

“Wow.” Tony whistled, shoving another handful of chips into his mouth, “First you reject my love and attempts at courtship and now you’re walking out on me to go meet another guy? Really, Steve, even for you this is low.” 

“Tony, c’mon–,” 

“I can’t believe this. Breaking my heart _twice_ in one day–,” 

“Fine! I’ll stop by your party okay?” Tony’s eyes lit up. 

“And you’ll bring your boy toy?” 

“He’s not my–,” Steve’s mouth snapped shut and he leveled Tony with a withering glare, “He’s an old friend.” 

“Sure. Pepper’s an old friend too.” 

“It’s not like that.”

“Well it’s not platonic.” 

“Why do you say that?”

“Your redder than my tie, apple pie.” Tony hummed and Steve could feel his cheeks heating up even more with that remark.

“I’m going to go.” Steve muttered, finally pushing his way to the door. He paused, hand on the knob as though he wanted to say something, have the last word perhaps, but then he was shaking his head and walking out with a long suffering sigh. 

“Well,” Tony said, clapping his hands, “I think that was one of our most civilized interactions.”

///

It was muggy.

The rain the night before had made the pavements damp and the cement clung to the fresh water smell. Steve, when he reached Café Carl’s, bypassed the line that stretched out the door. If Tony hadn’t arrived unannounced he probably would’ve beaten the rush. Instead he tried to find a free table, but when he couldn’t right away he opted to stand off to the side and watch Bucky behind the counter. 

Bucky’s therapist had thought a job that dealt with human interaction would do the war veteran good. Steve didn’t know much about the hows or the whys, just that Natasha had sent him a picture of Bucky in his apron and hat on his first shift with ten heart emojis. Bucky didn’t seem to mind the work. He had been here a week now, and Steve watched without having to mask his expressions.

Bucky had his hair back, as per regulations, and a few shorter strands tickled the edges of his eyes. He seemed, despite the magnitude of people, in his element. He switched from making drinks to manning the register, and while he didn’t pose with fake enthusiasm he carried his natural charm into serving. Steve was sure the two girls that were standing by the counter had gotten their drinks some time ago. He didn’t blame them for wanting to stay and watch. He wasn’t much better. 

An older couple left and Steve took their table by the window, and while this new angle hid Bucky it gave him a good view of New York’s streets, the grey heavy sky, and the muffled sound of traffic and conversations. He laid his sketchbook down in front of him and began to draw the Dunkin Donuts across the street after texting Bucky where he was. He always lost track of time when he drew, which was good but could also be quite inconvenient and awkward, like now when he startled because Bucky was looking over his shoulder with two mugs of coffee and a banana chocolate chip muffin in his hands. 

Steve turned to address him but Bucky was still staring down at his sketches, a fond smile pulling at his lips and he smelled like espresso and milk and his axe shampoo. 

“I like this one,” Bucky said, nodding to the drawing Steve had been working on: the teenage girl with her mom across the room, both engaged in conversation, the younger girls hair natural and curled. 

“Thanks,” Steve smiled, taking the mug and muffin from Bucky so he had his hands free to pull out his seat and sit himself down. Steve began to unpeel the wrapper from the muffin, it was warm he noted with an pleased hum, and Bucky stretched himself out, taking off his cap and laying it next to Steve’s drink. 

“How’s work going?” Steve asked, taking a pinch of muffin and Bucky, no longer on the clock, let the exhaustion show as he clunked his head into his hands and rubbed at his eyes like the six year old Steve had seen do only moments prior. 

“I hate Wednesday shifts, they’re always so crazy.” Bucky muttered his voice muffled in his hands. 

“Well you’re done now,” Steve said and Bucky peeled his hands away to meet Steve’s gaze. 

“No, I took over Maddie’s 11-3 shift,” Bucky grumbled miserably before dropping his face into his hands, “I’m just on break.”

“Aw, Buck, why’d you do that? You worked late yesterday too.” 

“Cause I hate myself, apparently,” Bucky sniped, taking some of the muffin and just holding it in his fingers, “And my co-workers are lazy fucks.” Steve regarded him, the circles under his eyes, the droop in his shoulders. 

“Have you been sleeping?” He asked and Bucky didn’t meet his eyes when he shrugged. 

“Sure.” He said. 

“More than five hours?” Steve pressed and Bucky grinned before shaking his head and popping the muffin into his mouth. 

“It’s hard,” He admitted quietly, “Got a lot on my mind.”

“You wanna lighten the load?” Steve asked and it was something they used to say to each other to get the other to talk: lighten the load. 

“Not now, but,” Bucky paused, looking a bit skittish and Steve leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table and waiting, “Can I come over tonight?” Steve blinked. Bucky mistook his silence for rejection, because he immediately began backtracking.

“Only if you’re not busy! If you have other plans I totally–,” 

“Of course you can come over,” Steve interrupted gently, giving Bucky a reassuring smile, “I’ll cook dinner.” Bucky stared for a moment before his entire body seemed to relax into the chair, his eyes softening immensely. 

“Thank you,” He whispered, and Steve so desperately wanted to reach across the table and cover Bucky’s hands with one of his own. Lift his fingers and press tender kisses to each one of his knuckles. He didn’t. 

“What do you want to eat?” Steve asked and Bucky ran a hand through his hair habitually, tugging free more strands and loosening up his bun. 

“Whatever’s easiest for you,” He said, eyes flittering across Steve’s face, “Really, Steve, if it’s too much trouble–,” 

“It’s not. Really, Bucky, it’s not. You know I’d tell you if it was.” Bucky looked completely unimpressed at that but the smile didn’t fall from his lips and it filled Steve with a soft sort of pride, to know that he had made Bucky happy. 

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Bucky said, taking another bite from the muffin. 

“Yeah,” Steve said softly, watching the curve of his lips, “Yeah it is.”

///

Sam was sitting in the kitchen when Steve left the coffee shop at 5:00.

Bucky hadn’t been able to sit with him the whole time, but when he got off at 3:00 he came back and watched Steve draw and together they were able to lose track of two hours before the rain outside made them realize they should probably be heading back to Steve’s. Sam looked a bit surprised to see Bucky, the man had only been over once before, but it was a pleasant expression and he stood to hold out his hand for Bucky to shake in lieu of greeting. 

“How’re you, man?” Sam asked, a large smile painting his features and Steve would always be grateful for Sam’s natural likeness. 

“Good, you?” Bucky returned, and Sam shrugged before glancing down at the stack of paperwork he had laid out before him. 

“Been better. I love my job but I hate this part of it.” Steve walked around him to the cabinets, getting a glass of water for Bucky and himself as Sam sat back down. 

“You almost done with all that? We were going to make pasta, maybe put on a movie. But if it’s going to distract you we can–,” Steve began but Sam’s face lit up and he looked excitedly between the two of them. 

“We need to watch _It Follows_ ,” He said immediately and Bucky clapped his hands together, drawing Steve’s attention to the large smile that had begun to take over his features. 

“Yes! My sister’s been wantin’ me to watch that for months.” He said, pulling out the stool next to Sam’s and sitting himself down, comfortable and relaxed and like he owned the place and Steve’s heart swelled, just a little, at that. 

“Dude, Steve, c’mon, you’re the deal breaker here,” Sam said, leaning over his mountain of papers, “What do ya say?” Steve looked between Sam’s large brown puppy-eyes, Bucky’s pouted lips and clasped hands and well, really it wasn’t fair. 

He heaved a heavy sigh, one he didn’t mean because if Bucky wanted to watch a seven-hour long Teletubbies movie he would in a heartbeat just to see him smile. 

“Fine.” Sam and Bucky high-fived and Steve regretted introducing them. 

They ate enough pasta that they wouldn’t be able to move for weeks and sat, all cramped and close on Sam’s ratty couch his grandmother had sold him for $15 and watched _It Follows_ on Steve’s wheezing laptop. Steve was more focused on the feeling of Bucky pressed against his side, the solid weight and warmth of him, the comfort that it brought and he wanted to hook his arm over his shoulders and pull him in. 

After the movie they picked “The Lion King” and around midnight Sam was yawning loud into the crook of his arm and announcing he was off to bed. Steve half-expected Bucky to groggily agree and head out but one glance over had Steve nearly melting. Bucky was asleep, his head lolled onto his shoulder, eyes closed and chest moving deep with his breaths. Steve couldn’t wake him, and Sam seemed to notice the dilemma because he made the decision for him: he draped the red throw over Bucky and Steve’s laps. 

“Goodnight,” Sam mouthed, standing and walking into his room. Steve didn’t take his eyes off Bucky. He didn’t want to wake him so he clicked on another Netflix suggested movie for background noise and thirty minutes later he was asleep against Bucky’s side, his cheek resting on top of his head and the throw bunched around their waists. They didn’t wake up until the next morning when Sam came clambering into the living room and began making waffles. 

Bucky stirred, groggy and fucking _adorable_ , and Steve’s heart filled with such joyous contentment he didn’t know what to do with all of it. He’d need a bucket to collect it all. Bucky sniffed the air, perking up before realizing he was still tired and he dropped his head with a thud onto Steve’s shoulder. Sam was watching with an amused expression on his face and Steve tried to ignore the butterflies growing in the pit of his stomach. 

“Well good morning, sleeping beauties,” Sam cooed and hell Steve wasn’t going to live this down anytime soon. Bucky was the first of them to stand up, shrugging out from under the blanket and blinking awake. 

“Shit,” He said, voice rough and delicious from sleep, “I didn’t mean to turn this into a sleepover. Sorry, Stevie.” It took Steve a moment to process his words because his hair was tousled and framing his face and his eyes were relaxed and bright and he had forgotten what a sight morning Bucky was. 

“Don’t apologize, I clonked out too,” Steve yawned, stretching his hands up and taking a selfish thrill in the way Bucky’s eyes tracked the movement. It also made his heart kick up and God, this man was going to kill him. There was a crick in his neck and his shoulders were stiff but he was entirely content as he got himself up and moved to see if Sam needed help in the kitchen. 

They all gathered around the small coffee table, cross-legged on the floor and ate waffles drowned in syrup and blueberries. Steve hadn’t felt this happy so early in the morning in a long long time. And then he remembered Tony’s party this Friday. 

“Hey, Buck?” He asked and Bucky looked up at him over his food, stopping mid-chew to show Steve that he was listening. 

“I forgot I told a friend that I would go to this party they’re having on Friday. Would you be cool with stopping by? Just for a bit! And we can leave whenever but I told him I’d make an appearance and I completely forgot before I agreed to drinks with you and–,” 

“Whoa, Steve, slow down,” Bucky laughed, swallowing before picking up a blueberry from the container and popping it into his mouth, “I’m fine with going. It’ll be fun.” Hope filled Steve up like a balloon and he couldn’t keep the relief off his face. 

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Bucky shrugged, shooting him a lazy grin, “Haven’t partied with you since high school.” 

“Now those are some stories I wanna hear,” Sam piped in, leaning his elbow on the table and staring Steve down, “You talking about Tony’s thing?” 

“Yeah, he tracked me down this morning about it,” Steve said, feeling better that Bucky seemed comfortable with going, even a little excited. Then apprehensive because it was one thing to be around Bucky sober and feel out of control but drunk? He’d have to monitor that one. 

The last time he had drank with Bucky he had dragged the younger man into their friend’s pantry and was on his knees with Bucky’s jeans pulled down around his ankles in less than ten seconds. Bucky had tried to keep quiet but ended up knocking over three boxes of Girl Scout Cookies instead and had came with Steve trying not to laugh too loud and gagging when he did– Steve nearly choked on his waffle and had to take a big steadying gulp of water. 

He was not about to get a hard-on while eating waffles with Sam across from him. That wasn’t going to happen. 

But then he was looking up and seeing Bucky staring at him, eyes intense and a faint pink dusting his own cheeks and whether or not his comment had them both thinking of the same thing or something similar it was enough for Steve to come to the conclusion that he just wouldn’t drink at all on Friday.

///

Steve was drunk. 

Natasha had seen him drunk, but that was before James Barnes, and now she stood side by side with Sam and watched the two interact. They were completely in their own world, kind of had been since they reunited, but now that they had liquid courage it was almost impressive how much no one else mattered. It was becoming painfully aware just how much they consciously tried to include other people when they were around each other. 

Natasha was in a good place though. She had a nice buzz, loopy enough that her fingers tingled but still well aware of her own mind and actions. Relaxed enough that she leaned heavily against Sam’s side. 

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say they were fucking,” She said, voice pitched to be heard over the music, the bass turned up so loud that she could feel the vibrations in her bones. 

“Good thing we know better,” Sam said, taking a hearty sip of his beer, voice distracted. It was hard not to be distracted by the two of them, Natasha thought, considering both men were unfairly attractive. She wasn’t sure which one Sam was staring at, but his eyes were hooded and he seemed tense against her. 

“Are you in love with Steve?” She blurted and Sam visibly jumped, coughing as his drink went down the wrong way. He hit his hand multiple times against his chest, shooting her a sharp befuddled look. 

“Jesus, Nat, what–no!” He choked and she pushed away from the wall to lean further into his personal space. Alcohol made her even more lenient with a person’s comfort zone. 

“You swear to me right now that you don’t think Steve Rogers is attractive.” She said, poking him with a long nail. Sam batted her hand away.

“I never said he wasn’t attractive–,” 

“I won’t tell him you know,” She said, suddenly serious, all playful light gone from her eyes, “If you need to talk about it. I’m a pretty good listener.” Sam pretended to ignore her, downing the last of his beer before giving the bottle a glum shake. It was some moments before he spoke again. 

“We almost got together you know,” He said quietly, so soft she barely heard him, “Once. The first summer we met. He was drunk like that.” 

Sam waved his hand toward Steve, and Natasha followed his gaze. James was leaning against the nearby wall, ankles crossed, one hand nursing a drink, the other folded across his chest. He was talking low under his breath, but Steve was close enough to pick up on it, eyes crinkling as he shook with laughter. The colored lights Tony had installed cast them in a dream-like glow, violet tingling their eyelashes and making them seem otherworldly. Out of time. James was the most relaxed Natasha had ever seen him.

“I’m not in love with him,” Sam said, utterly serious, “And I’m happy about him and Barnes. It’s just, sometimes, like now, it hurts… just a little bit.” Natasha turned back to face him, the downward tilt of his mouth, but Sam was brave, braver than anyone gave him credit for, and he met her eyes with a defiance that challenged her to pity him. 

“C’mon,” She sighed, taking his hand and interlacing their fingers, “Lets get you another beer.” Tony had taken up bartending, and Natasha he was to blame for the five people passed out atop each other in the corner. Banner was going to have a aneurism with all this mess, she was sure of it. 

“Heeyyyy!” Tony bellowed, jumping over the table and knocking over three bottles of Smirnoff in the process, “I didn’t know Rogers and hot barista were a thing!” Natasha didn’t look at Sam to see his reaction to that. Instead she placed a hand on Tony’s arm and squeezed. 

“Make us something strong,” She cooed, pressing up to kiss his cheek. Distraction worked, his attention was entirely on her. 

“Yes ma’am,” He slurred, turning around three times before spinning into the table and grabbing the first bottle he could get his hands on. 

“You ever have a “suicide”?” He asked and Sam let out a snort at the name. 

“That’s what’s got you all over the place?” He wondered and Tony shrugged. 

“It’s a mix of everything and some sugar and it’s beautiful and magical and fucking orgasmic so stay right there, I’ll make you two.” He fumbled around the makeshift bar, spilling rum, vodka, whiskey, ever clear, a splash of grape juice and one single ice cube in a glass before handing the first to Natasha, “ladies first”, and the second to Sam before he patted their shoulders and hefted his way through the crowd once more. 

Natasha sniffed it, her nose burning, and she shot Sam a cautious look. 

“May as well,” Sam said, bringing the drink to his lips, “He did almost kill himself making it.” The night after that one drink passed in such a haze that Natasha wasn’t sure where her shoes went, why she was making out with a guy who had silver hair on the bathroom floor, or why she had, at one point, gotten atop Clint’s shoulders to try and to the Macarena. She remembered Bucky had joined her, at one point. 

Now the night was winding down, the music still loud but the guests less rambunctious, and she let Bruce carry her to the couch and sitting down besides her, passing her some water as he pushed his glasses up his nose.  
Clint buried himself into her side, fast asleep, and began to drool on her hair but she was sated and warm and didn’t mind at all. James had seated himself on the counter in the kitchen, Steve leaning up beside him, and they both seemed to be pretty level-headed as they talked, James’ hand occasionally going up to smooth down Steve’s arm or pat the top of his head, fixing some fly-away hairs. 

It was transfixing, watching the two together. Steve looked at Bucky like that’s all he was, that his best friend was the universe and he had painted the world with one stroke of his hand. James didn’t look much better, all starry-eyed and shit, and Natasha knew they were still treading being even friends again but it must be killing the both of them, when they always looked two seconds from either marrying the other or fucking on any available surface. 

Tony approached them periodically throughout the night, and the moment he saw James his first words were, “Hot Barista?!” and Steve’s eyes were so sharp Natasha was surprised Tony hadn’t been cut through right then. She was getting tired, and she knew that James and her had work the next day, or she had paperwork and he had selflessly said he’d cover yet another shift, so she extracted herself from the myriad of limbs draped over her and made her way to the kitchen. James stopped talking when she approached and both men turned to her. She almost felt bad interrupting them. 

“I’m heading home, you joining?” She asked James and she could see the disappointment flash across Steve’s features. 

“Might as well,” He said, sliding down from the counter and when he stumbled Steve steadied him. 

“I should head out too,” Steve, said, blue eyes scanning the dimly lit apartment, “Is Sam ready?” 

“I think he’s with Alice,” Natasha said, pointing over her shoulder, “But if you asked I bet he’d leave.” Steve hummed in agreement, but he made no move to leave. James hadn’t either, and Natasha knew she’d have to be “that roommate” and drag him off so they could at least get a kind of decent nights sleep. She was about to hustle them along but then a man was stepping up around her and into the narrow space of the kitchen with them. 

He was tall, short cut hair, broad chest and wide arms, and he stood with a red solo cup in his hands that looked like it contained a meager amount of coca cola. She wouldn’t have thought much of it, wouldn’t have thought anything of it, people had been coming up to each other all night, but the moment the man appeared James tensed and paled and her instincts kicked in. Because if she were walking down the street alone at night and saw him she’d be having the same reaction as James was having now. That unsettling fear in the bottom of her gut told her to run.  


“James,” The man said, and even Steve seemed to be on alert now, though there was recognition in his eyes that Natasha couldn’t relate with. James swallowed but his gaze was hard and self-assured even as he turned on a polite enough smile. 

“Brock. Have you been here all night?” James asked and the man–Brock?– stiffened at the indifference of James’ words. 

“Only an hour,” Brock said, eyes darting to first Natasha and then lingering on Steve and it was obvious he wanted to speak to James alone but Steve didn’t look like he was planning on leaving and Natasha wasn’t about to walk away with that feeling in her gut screaming at her to stay. Protect. She immediately felt the need to place herself between James and this man, and although James could obviously handle himself the urge was still strong. 

“I was hoping we could talk,” Brock said, and if Natasha were any dumber she would have thought he looked a bit self-conscious. His eyes were too sharp for that though. Steve hadn’t left James’ (no, Bucky, he didn’t like James and maybe this was why) side, if anything he seemed to have gotten closer and Natasha had to remind herself that Bucky had fought in a war, he had survived an abusive childhood, he was strong and he was an adult who knew what was best for him. 

That being said she wouldn’t leave until he had made it clear that’s what he wanted. James’ eyes flickered, and he bit his lip, a nervous habit, before sighing subtly under his breath and trying to look unaffected.

“Yeah, that’s fine, ‘Tasha,” He said, turning to her, “I won’t be long. I’ll meet you out front.” She gave a curt nod, trying to read Bucky but his expression was closed off entirely. He was avoiding Steve’s gaze, but he patted his bicep as he passed to follow Brock out into the hall. Steve and Natasha watched them until Tony’s apartment door swung swiftly shut. Natasha turned to Steve, his eyes far-cast, the blue clouded and more troubled than he usually let show. There was a tension in his shoulders, a tightening tick in his jaw, before he faced her. 

“I’ll get Sam,” He said, sounding nothing like himself, “Please text me when he gets home safe.” Natasha nodded. There was almost something akin to a threat in his tone. 

“I will.” She watched on as Steve pulled Sam off the couch, said his curt goodbyes before the two men were walking out of the apartment as well. She waited for a few more moments in the kitchen before departing down the elevator and outside. It had grown a little chilled, nothing that was too inconvenient, and she waited fifteen minutes before her phone vibrated in her jeans.

It was from Bucky. 

_Don’t wait up for me._

 

He didn’t come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew. ;)
> 
> Thank you guys for all the amazing comments and feedback, it means the world! Comments give me the motivation to continue writing. Otherwise it's a little like shouting into the void.


	4. Cartoons and Checks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's a little lost and a lot broken.

“Where are you going?” 

Bucky paused in tugging on his jeans to look at Brock over his shoulder.

“I’ve missed my shift, I need to go,” He said, dropping his head so he could shimmy his pants up under his hips. He could feel Brock’s eyes on him, intense and burning, and he jumped slightly as he felt Brock’s fingers trace the raised scar on his side. 

“It’s healed well,” He commented idly and Bucky hated himself for leaning into the touch. When Brock’s hand slipped lower, fingers teasing as they dipped under the waistband of his briefs, Bucky turned fully so he could watch him stretched on the bed. He looked so smug, so self-assured, the confidence that had first drawn Bucky to him. A confidence that was old and familiar. 

He caught Bucky looking; he wasn’t trying to be discreet, and licked his lips like a cat. And there was that heat of desire curling up Bucky’s spine and he was both angry at himself and aroused as he twisted over and kissed Brock. It was easy, he told himself, to see why he had fallen for him. Brock turned slightly on his side to deepen the kiss, gripped Bucky’s hips almost possessively and tried to move him up onto his lap. Bucky lingered for a moment before he pulled back and away into a sitting position on the edge of the bed again. Brock’s gaze never left him. 

“Fuck,” Bucky sighed, scraping an agitated hand through his hair, “Fuck _fuck_ shit–I broke up with you for a reason.” Brock was moving against the sheets and then Bucky felt the mattress dip and Brock’s arms were tight around his chest and waist, holding him still. 

“You needed time to get over your little “self-discovery” phase,” Brock muttered, bending down to pepper open-mouthed kisses along Bucky’s shoulders, his neck, and Bucky froze instinctively when Brock’s lips brushed the raised scar tissue of his left arm. 

“You don’t need to keep up the act, James,” He was saying, fingers tracing over the top of his jeans again, “You don’t have to prove anything to me now. I get it. You can do things on your own, you don’t need me.” 

“That’s not why I broke up with you. You know that.” Bucky said, closing his eyes against the want that was settling low in his gut. Brock’s teeth scraped over a scar, the skin sensitive, a silent warning. 

“Why’d you come back with me then,” Brock hummed into Bucky’s skin, fingers growing bold, “Why’d you let me fuck you?” Suddenly Bucky was uncomfortable, the deep ache in his back and the soreness between his thighs made him shift away again and Brock let out an irritated groan before releasing him and falling heavily atop the mattress. 

“Jesus, James, what do I gotta do? Huh, Hon? Get you drunk again?”

“I need to go,” Bucky said, standing up and Brock’s hand was strong around his wrist, yanking him back down onto the mattress. Bucky didn’t have time to do much but blink before Brock’s naked weight was pressing him back down, over and almost suffocating, his large hands gripping Bucky’s arms down by his head. 

“You’re such a tease,” Brock hissed, pupils blown so large his eyes looked as black as a shark’s, “Coming here, fucking me, and then leaving? You think you get to do that? Fuck with my head like that?” The unease was growing, and Bucky swallowed around the sudden dryness in his throat. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to play mind games I…I fucked up okay? I shouldn’t have stayed over–,” Brock shut him up with a hard kiss and a dirty roll of his hips, his thigh wedging in between Bucky’s legs and forcing them apart. Bucky wrenched himself out of the kiss, pulling his arms free and sitting up with a jolt. 

“What the hell are you–?” 

“You know, this damsel in distress act is getting old,” Brock snapped, real anger in his tone as he regarded Bucky, “It was hot and now I’m sick of it.” 

“I’m not doing an _act_ ,” Bucky growled, shrinking away from the thigh pressing insistently against his crotch, “I’m trying to leave. I’ve been trying to leave.” A wave of emotions washed over Brock’s face, making the red in his cheeks stand out even more. His grip on Bucky’s wrists left to travel down his shoulders instead, his dark eyes following and stopping on Bucky’s left arm. It made him feel exposed.

“Who else is going to touch you, with an arm like that?” Brock said and Bucky flinched as though he’d been struck. Anger, hot and red, coursed through him, flushing his face and chest, along with a humiliation that only Brock managed to bring out. 

“You _fucker_ , get off me, I’m–,” 

“You really think he’d want to be with someone as fucked up and dirty as you?” Brock interrupted, eyes narrowing, “Huh? I love you, I love all of you, and I’ve seen all of you.” Bucky’s eyes pricked and he blinked the feeling away, the rage dispersing as quickly as it had come, met only with a sullen sadness and a dull aching guilt. 

“C’mon, Hon,” Brock whispered, pitching his voice low and moving forward, languidly pushing Bucky down, “I support you. I pay for your sick sister’s medical. And then you lead me on and I get nothing?” 

“I’m sorry about last night, I wasn’t thinking. But I am now and I–,”

“How is that fair? What kind of person does that make you?” Brock hummed, quiet, large hand spanning down Bucky’s side, tugging roughly at his jeans and briefs and Bucky could already feel himself beginning to disconnect. His gaze traveled from Brock over to the far wall, not really feeling the sheets kiss his now bare thighs. Brock was moving over him, his breathing faster, hands a bit more urgent but he kept his voice level. He sounded muffled to Bucky’s ears. 

“I got a check made out for Becca. See? I’m still taking care of you, even after all the shit you’ve done to me,” His tongue was burning, his teeth biting, and Bucky let his legs be spread, pulled up, “You’re still loose aren’t you? I don’t gotta prep you again, do I?” His breath was hot and loud in Bucky’s ear and it would hurt, yeah, but the lube was still sticky between his cheeks. 

“You’re good, right, babe?” Brock was rocking against him, urgent and hard, and Bucky…he tried to breathe past the tightness in his chest. 

“Right, babe? You’re good…you feel so good, always feel so damn good, no one loves you like me, right, baby? No one fills you like I do…” And he felt Brock press against him, almost in, before he shoved his hands against his bare chest, hard enough to knock him off balance. 

“Brock, _enough_ –,” He snarled but the man’s eyes were wild and he looked so turned on that it took Bucky by surprise. 

“You want it rough?” Brock asked and Bucky trembled, clenching his teeth and moving up his legs. 

“I don’t want it at all.” Brock’s hand was back, spreading his thighs and wedging his body between. If this was going to come to a fight then Bucky was ready. But Brock was hesitating and his right hand moved to Bucky’s chest, a firm weight that kept him pressed down.

“What do you want?” Brock asked and Bucky blinked up at him. He had to choose his words carefully. 

“I want to leave.” He said and it was a moment suspended, the air so thick that Bucky couldn’t breathe. Or maybe that was because of Brock’s hand. Bucky half expected Brock to pretend he didn’t hear him. To sock him in the jaw, flip him over, and just go to town but Brock didn’t. He sat back on his haunches, staring down at Bucky with dark eyes and a set jaw. 

“You’re the most selfish person I know,” He said and his words stopped Bucky cold, “You think you can just call me whenever you’re feeling lonely? You think I’m something to be used?” Bucky’s heart seized. 

“No, no, Brock, no, that’s not what last night–,” A cold look had Bucky’s mouth snapping shut. 

“Then go, if you want. Take the check, and go. I just wanted to help you. That’s all I ever want.” Brock made like he was going to move, get off the bed and leave the room and that thought, him leaving, struck Bucky dizzy with guilt and dread and he hated himself for it. Hated himself so forcefully that it took all his energy to fling himself up and wrap his arms around Brock’s broad shoulders. Brock was right. He was selfish. He was the one who came upstairs; he was the one who had let Brock hold him down. He was the one who had come, who had been hard; turned on, alone, _weak_ …

He kissed Brock hard on the mouth because that’s what they did. They fought and Bucky, even if he had had a point, a reason, forgot it in the end and tried to make it up to Brock. Like sex was a transaction, an apology, something that he could give because Brock was the only one who could want, who could love, someone as fucked up as him. And he was right, he had taken care of Bucky, he had taken care of his sister. He’d been so gentle last night. He’d been so kind… 

Brock growled, pulled Bucky up into his lap, his hands digging into Bucky’s ass before he was spreading him and forcing him down. Bucky bit his lips, clawed at his back, tried not to cry but shit there wasn’t enough lube left from last night and the stretch was hot and dry, way too dry for any comfort. He felt like he was being split in two. Brock set a fast pace, punishing, and Bucky shook and took it because he deserved this. Brock was so worked up that he wouldn’t last long, and the pain from not being well prepped kept Bucky from growing hard. 

It was better though, if he wasn’t. This wasn’t for him. Brock had his hand wrapped tight around Bucky’s throat, one hand hard on his hip, and he came with a grunt that he bit into Bucky’s shoulder. Over the biggest scar, the ugliest one he had. 

When Brock was done he rolled away with a contented sigh and padded into the bathroom, starting up the shower and picking up his toothbrush. Bucky moved slow, his fingers shaking as he pulled on his jeans, buttoned them, and then reached and pulled his shirt over his head. A part of him was half expecting Brock to want to go another round. 

“Check for Bec is on the kitchen counter,” Brock said, voice muffled with toothpaste. Bucky nodded, uncomfortable and too hot for his clothes. Brock’s cum was drying on his thighs and it hurt to move, but he slipped on his shoes and grabbed his phone off the floor. Three missed calls from Natasha. Two texts and four calls from Steve, and that hurt, seeing that name, that pure good strong name that Bucky wasn’t even worthy enough to have in his phone. He needed to call his therapist. 

“What, no kiss for Daddy before you go?” Brock called, unbearably happy now, and Bucky shot him a withering glare. 

“C’mere,” Brock said, and Bucky stepped into the bathroom to plant a chaste peck to his lips. Brock scoffed, arm wrapping around his neck and pulling him in and Bucky had to use his hands to brace himself against the wall so he wouldn’t trip forward. Brock kissed him so fierce his head was knocked back, Brock’s tongue parting his lips and slipping in. He gave Bucky’s ass one firm hit before pulling away, saliva making the corner of his mouth shine. 

“Call me the next time you get lonely,” Brock said, “Or need some more money. S’all I’m good for right?” Bucky left the apartment without looking back.

///

Of course, Natasha was waiting for him.

And so was Clint, surprisingly enough, perched next to her on the couch, and they both looked up as he walked in. Natasha was on her feet in an instant but she didn’t move forward. 

“You slept with him.” She said and really there was no point in lying, not when his hair was a tangled mess, he smelled like cum and sweat, and his clothes from the night before were wrinkled and stained. Didn’t stop the humiliation and shame from making a tired appearance though. 

“I’m taking a shower,” Bucky grumbled, power-walking across the living room. 

“James, wait–,” He spun on his heel so fast that Natasha almost ran into his back. 

“ _Don’t call me that_ ,” He snapped, rougher than he intended, and his tone had Clint peeking over the back of the couch. Natasha raised her hands to subdue him, her smart eyes worried and narrowed. 

“I’m sorry. It slipped.” She said, gaze sweeping over his form and landing to the bruise that was forming on his neck. 

“Are you okay?” She whispered, voice low enough that Clint couldn’t hear, even if his aids were turned up high. Bucky stiffened, he didn’t mean to, but he wouldn’t start fucking crying in the middle of their living room. 

“I’m fine.” He said before closing the door in her face. He didn’t stop to think. That wouldn’t be good. He stripped, stepped in the shower, and turned the water as hot as it could go. It burned his skin raw and sensitive and he leaned forward and rested his forehead against the steamed tiles. He practiced breathing deep. Okay. So he made a mistake. Doesn’t mean that he has to repeat it.

He was extra careful to not look at his arm as he turned the water off. He dressed in a daze, brushed his teeth, and the combination of fresh clothes and clean skin helped up his energy some. When he walked back out into the living room Clint and Natasha were gone but Steve was leaning against the counter in the kitchen. He looked up when he heard Bucky come in and the relief that washed over his features was noticeable to Bucky from across the room. 

“Hey,” He breathed, tripping over his own feet to reach him by the couch, “We didn’t hear from you last night are you okay?” The hickeys underneath his shirt felt like they were burning in his skin, like they were screaming out, chanting over and over, “notice! Look at how filthy he is. Look! Look!” He pulled his sleeves down over his palms self-consciously, like somehow that could cover up his mistake. His selfishness. 

“I…” Bucky began and stopped. He didn’t know what to say. He could lie, but miscommunication was how he lost Steve the first time. He didn’t want to do that again. 

“Bucky?” Steve asked, eyebrows furrowing and then his eyes were taking Bucky in, really seeing him, looking for any signs that could indicate to what was wrong. It’s me; Bucky thought miserably, I’m what’s wrong. You’ve already found it. 

“Why have you been so nice to me?” Bucky found himself saying instead and it just made Steve look all the more confused. 

“What?” He asked.

“Why have you been so nice to me?” Bucky repeated, feeling like he was tipping on the edge of something high, “I don’t deserve it.” Steve’s brows remained furrowed but his eyes grew sad and he took a step forward, his features pained.

“Yes you do, Buck,” He spoke quietly, his words for Bucky’s ears only, “You deserve so much more than just nice.” 

“Then why–?” He had to cut himself off, swallow, start again, “Then why can’t I do anything right? Why does life keep fucking me over? If I were a good person I would still have my arm, my sister wouldn’t be suicidal, my dad wouldn’t have been born, and I wouldn’t hurt everything I touch! I’m so selfish. I left you. And I left Becca. And now I’m…I’m just using everyone! I’m horrible, Steve, I’m such a horrible piece of shit.” Steve listened without interrupting and he waited, made sure Bucky was done before he stepped up closer, close enough that Bucky could see all the stitches in his shirt. 

“There’s nothing I can say that can change how you see yourself,” Steve began, his tone soft and gentle and good, “But I can tell you how I see you. How the rest of the world sees you.” Bucky shook his head, tears prickling his eyes and he couldn’t–He couldn’t listen to this. This was worse than a punch. 

“You’re my inspiration, Bucky. You’re the strongest person I know. You’ve made your mistakes but you always try to fix them, you always acknowledge that you’ve done them. You take care of others before you think about yourself. You’re smart and funny and witty and sarcastic and beautiful and you’re the personal embodiment of everything whole. When I’m with you I…I forget how to breathe in the best way possible. You motivate me. You inspire me. I wouldn’t be me without you,” Bucky shook his head, the tears still fighting to come but he tried to force them back, tried to cover his ears but Steve held his hands in a grip that he could easily pull away from but didn’t because it had been so long since anyone had touched him this gently, “You’ve been fighting a war since you were born, Bucky. All on your own. You’ve shouldered your pain, you’ve shouldered your sister’s, and while we were growing up you carried mine to. You don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to fight alone anymore. Let me take some of the load. I want to.”

Bucky looked up desperately, met Steve’s gaze, the determined strength in his eyes that Bucky had always admired. 

“You’re talking out of your ass, pal,” Bucky wheezed, trying to break whatever the fuck was crackling between them, “You don’t know who I’ve become.” 

“Then let me,” Steve pleaded, hands tightening on Bucky’s wrists, “Let me in, Buck, I want to know you. I want to know all of you.” Bucky shook his head. 

“Steve–,” 

“I’m not going to force you to talk. I just want you to know that I’m here whenever you’re ready to.” Bucky’s face contorted, cheeks flushing with all the shame he was trying not to bury under. He took a deep breath to steady himself. 

“Thank you, Steve. I…” He choked, panicked, “Just thank you.” Steve still looked like he was in pain, like Bucky talking badly about himself was somehow cruel and entirely offensive. 

“He didn’t hurt you did he?” Steve asked. Bucky started. 

“Wh–no!” Steve’s head tilted and he pointed to a spot near Bucky’s collarbone and neck. 

“Then what’s–?” Bucky saw the moment Steve understood. Realization fluttered over his face in a light rain and there was the guilt again, back as strong and sudden as ever. 

“Oh. I didn’t…I thought you had broken up?” Bucky’s heart sunk as Steve’s hands moved away and the blonde took a calculating step back. 

“We did. I did. I broke up with him two months ago,” Bucky began but found that he couldn’t find the words to finish. Steve was staring at him, his face a mixture of all sorts of horrible emotions and Bucky wished, if only to rid the hurt and confusion from Steve’s face, that last night had never happened. 

“I’m sorry, I should have left with you.” Bucky said and Steve immediately shook his head, his whole stance now completely guarded. 

“You’re an adult, Buck, you make your own decisions. I just want to be sure that you’re okay.” Steve said but the hurt was still there, in his tone and deep set in his eyes. Bucky felt the need to keep apologizing, to somehow explain himself. But there was no good excuse that he could think of. 

“Are you…?” Here Steve was struggling, “Are you together now? Um, did it mean anything–?” 

“No.” Bucky cut in, voice stern, “No, we’re not back together.” Steve was looking everywhere but Bucky’s face. 

“It’s fine if you are, Buck, I just, I don’t like the way he was talking to you in Carl’s a month ago and I–,” 

“I…I don’t know why I slept with him last night,” Bucky said and Steve looked a little pale as Bucky continued, “But I did. And I can tell you now that it didn’t mean shit and I feel awful about it, okay? If I could take it back I would but I can’t and it’s already fucking with me and I’m sorry if I hurt you, I never meant to–,” 

“Whoa, Buck, hey, slow down,” Steve interrupted, coming forward and wrapping his arms around Bucky’s shoulders, pulling him against his chest. Bucky draped his arms around Steve, let himself be held, because he wasn’t even aware of how fast he was breathing until he began to match his breaths with the ins and outs of Steve’s firm chest. The hug was short but it was grounding and Bucky pulled away with an embarrassed shuffle. 

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, eyes more understanding although his emotions were still under however many walls he had built within the last ten seconds. 

“I feel like shit,” Bucky admitted, shooting him a wry smile, “But I’ll be okay, yeah.” 

“If this guy gives you any trouble,” Steve said, voice hard, “I’ll kick his ass for you.” Bucky laughed, surprised and genuine, and quickly slapped a hand over his mouth. Steve was smiling at him though, tenderly and so warm that Bucky couldn’t look at him for long. He couldn’t look away for long either. Steve looked beautiful, in the light from the window, in his dark tight shirt and mussed hair, his bright eyes and _fuck_ Bucky really wanted to kiss him. 

The realization hit him hard, so hard that he took a step forward before he regained control of himself. Steve hadn’t moved though, they were still close, and Bucky looked up at him and that alone was a bit dizzying, the fact that Steve was a good two inches taller than him now. Steve was staring too, so Bucky wasn’t going to look away, not when his eyes were a clear bright blue and his lips pink and parted and inviting…Bucky remembered, how Steve’s lips used to feel. 

It had been years. He wanted Steve to cover all the places Brock had touched. He wanted Steve to kiss his presence away. His mouth was suddenly bone dry, his heart a staccato beat in his chest. Steve’s eyes traced down his nose, landed on his mouth…and stayed, for a beat too long to be anything casual.

It would be so easy to kiss him. 

“Bucky,” Steve began, voice soft and filled with the same nerves that were jumping under Bucky’s skin, “I need to tell you–,” 

“Wow. Hey, guys.” They both leapt back which made Bucky painfully aware of how close they had actually been. Becca Barnes stood in the doorway, a bag of groceries in one hand and a small gold key in the other. Steve was shocked, looked like someone had just come and kicked the air right out of his lungs. 

“Becs?” He croaked and she turned her piercing brown eyes to Steve with a fond little smile that she somehow still managed to make look arrogant. 

“Steven,” She returned but her smile was growing, taking over her features and warming her face that belied the dark shadows under her eyes and the too-thin look of her cheeks. She threw the groceries to the ground but Bucky was too moved by the sight of his best friend hugging his little sister that he didn’t have it in him to care. Becca practically leapt into Steve’s arms and he caught her, lifted her right up, spinning around with a disbelieving laugh as she hooked her sneakered feet around his hips. 

“Wow, you’ve grown!” Steve exclaimed, setting her carefully on her feet but not pulling away, his hands large and covering her shoulders, “You’re beautiful, Becs!” She blushed, Steve was the only person who could ever make her, before she stood on her tiptoes and ruffled his hair. 

“You too! Little Stevie now taller than my bro, would you look at that!” She guffawed. 

“What, not even a hello?” Bucky chided and Becca rolled her eyes before running up and giving him a tight hug. 

“How could anyone overlook you?” Becca said, stepping back, “When you’re so loud?” 

“I’m so glad I’m paying half your rent,” Bucky teased and Becca shot him a half-hearted glare before she bent down to pick up her discarded bags of groceries. 

“This is a little weird,” She said, looking between both Bucky and Steve, “I haven’t seen you two almost kissing since I was like, fifteen.” Steve, predictably, went as red as Becca’s nails. 

“We weren’t almost kissing,” Bucky protested but his voice was weak because shit was that what was about to happen? He didn’t dare look over to Steve. Becca looked completely unimpressed. 

“So you’re still going to lie about that?” She asked and Steve went even darker. 

“Lie about what?” Bucky snapped, crossing his arms and it was almost impressive how quickly Becca and him were able to fall into their old arguments; their old it-happened- five-years-ago-how-are-we-still-talking-about-this arguments.

“Sleeping together,” Becca said, matching Bucky’s defensive stance and both Barnes children ignored Steve’s stuttering because this was a do-or-die fight now and neither was going to back down easily. 

“We’re not sleeping together _now_ ,” Bucky, growled, voice pitched low and Becca’s eyes narrowed, shrewd and cunning and she was such a little shit– 

“No? So what would have happened just now if I hadn’t interrupted?” She pressed. 

“Nothing!” Bucky snapped, leaning forward and taking a plastic bag from her because he was a nice older brother who didn’t want his little sister carrying too much. 

“You’re so full of shit,” Becca laughed, but there was no real malice in her tone and Bucky’s hard gaze cracked a bit as she smiled, “You were so hung up on Steve when you were younger it was gross.” Now it was Bucky’s turn to blush and Steve looked to him, eyebrows raised. 

“Oh?” He asked and no, this was not happening right now. He tried to shoot Becca a warning look, a shut the hell up look with his eyes but she was still smirking and not buying into it. Cause yeah, him and Steve had fucked around and they were friends first and foremost but Bucky could remember how it had felt to be in love by the age of fifteen and if Becca was about to blow that little tidbit of information he had drunkenly confessed to her because she thought Steve already knew he was going to jump out the window. This day couldn’t get more humiliating for him. 

“God, Steve, he wouldn’t shut up about you,” Becca continued, of course she continued, “You should’ve heard him talk when he had a few beers in him, Christ, I couldn’t get him to shut up about your–,” 

“Okay!” Bucky cut her off, plastering on a fake smile that hurt his cheeks it was so large, “That’s enough out of you, kiddo!” Becca must have some sense left because she shot Bucky a smug “I won” kind of look before hefting the rest of her groceries on the table and letting the subject go. Steve was still looking at Bucky though, a thoughtful joy in his eyes and Bucky would pay the universe $200 if he could stop blushing now, thanks. They began unloading the groceries, Bucky sticking the cookies n’ cream in the fridge and handing Becca a five because he had forgotten it last time and Nat almost had his head. 

“Well, I should head out,” Steve said, glancing at his phone before pocketing it and rocking back adorably on his heels, “I have a Skype meeting in fifteen.” Becca full on pouted, her eyes drooping and bottom lip jutting out. It used to work so well on their dad. 

“Aw, really? I finally got to see you!” She whined and Steve’s face softened as he walked around the counter to give her a hug. 

“How about we plan a lunch date?” He asked and she nodded furiously before pulling out her phone and taking his. 

“That would be great,” She was saying under her breath as she added herself to Steve’s contacts and Bucky watched with a strange mixture of happiness and regret stacking in his chest. The check in his back pocket suddenly felt like it weighed a ton, like it was burning into his skin as the physical reminder on how incompetent he was. His dad was right. Brock was right. Steve was…looking at him carefully, knowing, knowing everything it seemed without Bucky say anything. 

“I’ll see you later?” Steve asked. Bucky couldn’t find his voice. He nodded, silent. Steve stared a moment more before he was nodding and moving over to the door. There was an awkward pause where Bucky didn’t know whether or not they should hug goodbye, shake hands, bro fist it, something but Steve was closing the door and him and Becca were alone. Their demeanors changed instantaneously. 

“I um,” Bucky began, digging into his jeans and pulling out the folded check, “I got you covered for this month.” He held out the paper to her but Becca didn’t make a move to take it, her eyes on his, steady and unmoving. 

“I’m not taking his money anymore,” She said, voice hard and Bucky blinked in surprise, the check wavering loud in the air between them. 

“You–Becs, c’mon, don’t be stupid, you can’t afford–,” 

“I’m not taking his money,” She said, tone dropping, and she crossed her arms defiantly over her chest, “You fuck him, right? And then he gets inside your head. And I get this weird fuck money from my brother’s emotionally manipulative asshole of a boyfriend or whatever the hell he is, and you get depressed and it repeats! I’m not adding to it anymore. I’m not.” Bucky felt anger rise up in his throat and he gripped the money tighter, urging her to take it. 

“You need therapy Becca. And anti-depressants, and mood stabilizers, and a shit ton of medical debts to pay off, plus rent and utilities… you need this.” He said, stepping forward, almost pleading but Becca stood firm. 

“I’m not going to help you hurt yourself,” She whispered, voice breaking and that stopped Bucky in his tracks, “Ever since Dad died you were always trying to find ways to get abuse somewhere else. Because that’s what you’re used to. And it’s a fucking tragedy, Bucky, and I’m not–I refuse– to help you with that. I can get by on my own.” 

“You can’t though. Becca you can’t. You’ll go further in debt, you’ll have to move–,” 

“It’s my life Bucky,” She said, “If that’s what happens that’s what happens and I find a new way to live. You can’t keep trying to fix me or save me, or whatever the hell it is you’re doing!” 

“I love you! I’m helping to support you! How is that a bad thing?” 

“Because it’s not your money! It’s his! My friend asked me the other day if you were a whore, Buck!” 

“So you’re not taking this because of what people think–?”

“I’m not taking it because this,” She grabbed the check, waved it in front of him, “Is mentally binding you to an abusive piece of shit who is exactly like Dad was.” Bucky could feel his resolve breaking, the shame making his stomach churn because if Becca didn’t take this then last night was for nothing and he was shit, he was the lowest form of shit– 

“Stop that.” Becca snapped, “Stop thinking you’re worthless.” 

“I am,” Bucky, croaked, heart wheezing in his chest, “I can’t even support you. I can’t do anything for you–,” Becca hugged him, tight, pulled him down and wrapped her arms over his shoulders. He buried his face in her neck, her hair tickling his nose, and cried. She cried too, a little, and held him. 

“We’ll get by,” She said, spoke soft against his skin, “We’ll get by. We don’t need him Buck. You don’t need him.” 

“Please,” He said, voice wrecked, “The last one. Just take this one. And then we can start from scratch.” When she hesitated he pulled back, hands on her shoulders. 

“Please. We have it and…c’mon Becs. Just to give us a head start.” She looked weary but she unfolded the check and read the balance. 

“Last one, Bucky,” She said, pocketing it, “Last one. Promise.” 

“I promise.” Her expression softened and she reached up to brush at his hair. 

“You have to take care of you as well,” She said, “Promise me that, too.” When he didn’t she pinched his cheek, made him flinch. 

“Ow! Yeah, I promise,” He muttered, rubbing at the red skin. 

“Good,” She said, breathing out a loaded sigh before turning to the food left scattered on the counter, “Wanna make some quesadillas now?”

///

Clint was going to do it. 

He was going to ask her out. Tony had told him to suck it up and he was going to. He was going to do this. He was–

She turned to him, ice-cream in hand , smile in place, eyes piercing even covered by her black shades and he couldn’t shit, he couldn’t… 

“You okay? You’ve been staring at me like you’re constipated for the past ten minutes.” She mulled, twirling the cone between her long nails and he fell back with an unattractive groan onto the grass. It was sunny out, the first real sunny day in a while, and Central Park was crowded. Lucky for them, they arrived early, with their blanket and champagne and cheese and crackers and Nat’s weird version of Pride and Prejudice that she found on craigslist. 

“I am constipated,” Clint sighed and Natasha wrinkled her nose at him. 

“You’re disgusting,” She said. 

“You’re not used to that yet?” He asked.

“Oh, I am. I just thought you should know.” He smiled. Happy. 

“I do.”

///

Steve had a new commission. 

A company based in the city wanted a few character designs sketched by that Saturday. It was for an upcoming TV show in LA, in partnership with Cartoon Network. He was excited. This wasn’t his first job for a well-known company, but it was his first one in some time and the news had him jittery. His first inclination was to call Bucky. He had tried not to think of the brunette, of the love-marks on his throat or the state of his mentality but it was hard not to. 

It was hard to quell down this strange possessive jealousy that he wasn’t used to feeling. He’d never felt anything so intense, emotional, physical or otherwise, in his past relationships. And to know that the man from the party was the same from the coffee house brought the jealousy yes but it also made him feel hopeless. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking; letting his old feelings for Bucky resurface. Had he expected the older man to return his them? Reciprocate after five years of no contact, of no communication? Bucky had someone in his life, someone else who he was, if no longer romantically, than physically involved with and who was Steve to stand in the way of that? What right did he have?

But he couldn’t stop thinking about Bucky with another man. Steve had been his first guy, and vice versa, and that sort of connection, that bond that had formed after their first night together, Steve didn’t think that went away. It was there, buried, but there, and he had seen a glimpse of it today. He had seen it in Bucky’s eyes, in the parting of his lips. Before Becca had entered, what would have happened? Steve had wanted to kiss him. 

He had wanted to close his hand over the hickey on Bucky’s skin, as though his touch alone would ease the mark away. He shifted in his seat, and tried to will away the memories of when he had left evidence on Bucky’s neck. How Bucky would gasp and grip his shoulders, pull his hair, say, urgent with no seriousness in his voice, “Not too many, my ma will notice…” He’d always pull Steve back when he had tried to pull away. He’d love the bruises as much as Steve loved giving them. He had come out of the bathroom once, hair wild and briefs haphazardly pulled on, looking at Steve with wide, glossy eyes, “I look like I’ve been attacked by an octopus,” He breathed and Steve had found it hilarious. Until Bucky had crawled over him and whispered, “I feel like yours.” 

Steve and Bucky hadn’t had sex right away. They started slow. Really slow, because Bucky wasn’t sure about his sexuality and Steve was too self-conscious with his own lanky frame to want to try and suggest they do more. Those last six months of high school they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. And thinking back Steve supposed that he should have realized that they had gone long past the line of “casual platonic experimenting”. 

The first time Bucky had topped, was on the night of prom. The first time Steve had was two nights after. And Bucky, both times, had looked absolutely gorgeous, the most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen. He still was.

Steve pressed his face into his hands, tried shifting again to relieve the sudden pressure he felt in his jeans. Sam would be home any minute. He wasn’t about to jerk off under his work desk. No matter how much Steve liked reminiscing this was going to be a problem if he didn’t stop thinking in the next thirty seconds. It was near impossible though, when he remembered times he hadn’t thought of in years. He had almost forgotten they had ever happened. The first time Bucky, embarrassed but painfully aroused, had asked Steve if he could pin his arms down while they fucked, had been, up to that point, the hardest Bucky had ever come. Until they realized how much they had both gotten off on it, until they realized that Steve (although smaller) was a natural at taking care of Bucky, of holding him down, of hurting him just enough and Bucky who always tried so hard to have control, who had to take care of everyone, had finally found a place where he felt safe and comfortable enough to let go. 

“Nope,” Steve told himself, slapping his cheeks to try and focus on his laptop screen, “No. Do not think about that. Do not think about that. Do no–,”

“Think about what?” Sam asked and Steve jumped three feet off his chair. 

“Jesus, Sam! You scared me!” He gasped, pressing his hand to his chest and feeling how frantic his heart was pounding. He could feel the red in his cheeks and it was almost like Sam had actually caught him jerking off. 

“Sorry man, but when you get in your head and start talking to yourself I feel like it’s usually best to intervene.” Sam said, padding his way into the kitchen and opening the drawers. The usual excitement from his new job came bubbling back and Steve checked to make sure he was all settled down before standing to join Sam in the kitchen. 

“I got a new commission,” He said; smile bright as he leaned against the counter. Sam looked at him from pouring his orange juice. 

“Oh?” He hummed, grinning when Steve’s smile only grew, “And?” 

“It’s with Cartoon Network. Character designs for a new show they’re making.” Sam’s face lit up. 

“That’s incredible! Wow, man, hey that’s great!” And they leaned over the counter top to give each other a brief congratulatory squeeze. Sam stared at him a moment before nodding decisively and pulling out two beers. 

“We’re celebrating with everyone you know. This weekend.” He said. Steve shrugged, taking the pro-offered beer. 

“Aren’t they in LA?” Sam asked and Steve pulled out a stool to sit down. 

“Yeah but we’re communicating mainly through email. I am going to go meet them in two weeks though.” Steve said, taking a refreshing sip. Sam hummed thoughtfully, eyes downcast on the counter. 

“You’re thinking too loud,” Steve chided and Sam let out a snort before taking a drink. 

“It’s nothing. I’m happy for you, man. That’s a great gig.” Steve let his smile grow. 

“It is, isn’t it?”

///

“You _punk_ , that’s amazing!” Bucky laughed, his voice muffled over the receiver of Steve’s cell. 

The giddiness from before was back, the excitement about the new job, but hearing Bucky being exuberant over it filled him with a lovely soft pride. 

“Thanks,” He sighed, plopping himself down onto his bed and shimmying under his sheets. He kept the window open, watching the rain trace thin watery trails down the glass, yellow, gold, red, lights reflected off the surface. The traffic was quiet, carrying up through the pipes and wind and Bucky’s voice, sleepy and relaxed, made Steve’s heart flutter. 

“Are you excited?” Bucky asked, and Steve could tell he was moving around his kitchen. He always ate so late. 

“I am, yeah, I’ve never been to LA,” Steve said. 

“Oh, you’ll love it I think,” Bucky said, and Steve closed his eyes, imagined him sitting on the couch, shoes off, long sleeve shirt rolled up, shoulders slumped and posture comfortable. He’d look like comfort. Like home. And there was that warm light glow that Steve always associated with Bucky Barnes and hopelessly he wished Bucky were with him now. He’d trace gentle kisses along his temple, under his neck, would make him laugh until he was breathless. Bucky had the best laugh. 

“Do you want to come with me?” Steve blurted without thinking and there was a stunned silence on Bucky’s line. 

“I–to Los Angeles?” Bucky asked and Steve swallowed, too late to backtrack now. 

“Yeah,” He said, trying to play it cool, “It could be fun. Get out of the city.” He could practically hear Bucky thinking over the line. 

“I don’t know, Steve,” He began, “I’d love to, don’t get me wrong, but I just don’t know if I can swing it right now.” Steve felt his heart sinking in disappointment, irrationally of course because if he sat back and actually thought about what he’d ask then he’d have taken into consideration that Bucky is working full time, trying to pay rent and support Becca, that he had just done a big move from Atlanta… 

“I get it, sorry, I wasn’t really thinking just thought it’d be nice.” Steve said, keeping his tone light. 

“It would be nice,” Bucky, said, voice reassuring and soft, “Some other time.” Steve nestled into his pillows, breathed in the faint smell of fabric softener. 

“Yeah. We’ll plan for later,” Steve said. 

“In the future,” Bucky hummed, “We’ll go to the beach.” Steve couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face. 

“Pinky promise?” Bucky laughed, short and sweet. 

“Didn’t know we were eight again, pal,” He said, his voice so fond it was breathless. 

“Just pinky promise me.” Steve said. Bucky laughed again. 

“Okay, okay,” He whispered, “I pinky promise.” They were silent for a moment; just finding comfort in knowing the other was present in some form. 

“Hey, Steve?” Bucky asked and there was something in his tone that had Steve’s attention on high alert. 

“Yeah?” 

“Thank you. For talking to me today…you said some really beautiful things and I…thanks. I needed to hear it.” Steve clutched his phone so tight it creaked. I love you. He thought. I love you.

“Of course, Bucky. I meant every word.” Bucky was silent for so long Steve was afraid he’d hung up. Then, timidly…

“Tasha just got home, I’m gonna go.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“See you tomorrow. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” 

He lay in bed, awake until even the traffic had begun to die down. I love you. He thought desperately. Remembered all the times he’d almost said it out loud. I love you. 

 

Pinky promise, I love you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are great. I may not be able to update until sometime next week cause I'm heading to New York this weekend for a film shoot so I don't know if I'll have as much time to write. 
> 
> Comments=life. Thank you for giving them. xx


	5. Visitations and Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky have a fan group. Clint talks too much.

Bucky had slept over at Steve’s after his dad’s visitation. 

Sarah Rogers hadn’t asked questions; just made up the spare bed in the guest room and made sure Bucky ate everything she put in front of him. It had been a slow, long day. Bucky had been in his head, the rented suit he was wearing was itchy and too tight. Steve had helped him with his tie that morning; his hands had been shaking too terribly for him to make it up properly. He didn’t sleep in the spare room, of course. 

He stayed in Steve’s, and felt like he was made out of lead. Like he would break through the bed with the weight of himself, and Steve had gently eased him out of his suit, folded it up nice and well and put it in the empty shelf in his closet. He could tell Bucky needed something when the brunette walked over to where he was sitting on the edge of his bed, moving slow and careful, he straddled Steve’s thighs and braced his arms on Steve’s shoulders. They were sixteen, and Bucky was bigger than him still but Steve had managed to gain some weight, wasn’t as thin as he had been five months ago. 

Just a late bloomer, his mother said. He placed his hands on Bucky’s hips, hands that he always felt were too big for his arms but on Bucky they looked just right. Bucky kissed him, slow at first but it didn’t last like that for long, a desperation seeping into his movements and tilting Steve’s head back. Bucky’s mouth opened over his, hungry and urgent, and his hands found the back of Steve’s neck and his thighs tightened their hold, and when he began moving, grinding down on Steve’s lap Steve broke the kiss with a gasping breath and tried to hold Bucky still. 

“Buck–you’re upset, we should talk–,” 

“After,” Bucky had interrupted, pupils blown, breath already coming in short pants, “After, Steve, I needa get outta my head.” Bucky claimed his mouth again, could taste the hesitance in him, and grabbed Steve’s hands and planted one on his lower back, the other on his ass, over his briefs, flexing his fingers with Steve’s and sighing heavy against his lips. 

“Buck–,” Steve tried again, ignoring the feeling of how fucking good Bucky felt, how pretty and seductive he effortlessly was– 

“Steve,” Bucky sighed, close to crying, his eyes wild and desperate and pleading when he pulled back, met Steve’s gaze, “Please, I need to go under.” Steve’s cock throbbed at hearing Bucky’s voice, registering his words, the way he pushed his ass back into Steve’s hands. 

“Please, _sir_ …” Bucky whined pitching his voice so it rasped, so it made Steve’s blood run hot. And oh, oh, that wasn’t playing fair. It was so hard to resist him, to try and think rationally. Think that Bucky’s had a long day, had just lost his dad, the most complicated relationship in his life suddenly so simple. But…Steve sighed, slowing Bucky down, kissing his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids, trying to calm Bucky with a tenderness that the other boy didn’t think he needed now. Steve always knew him better than he knew himself though. 

“Color?” He asked and when Bucky opened his mouth immediately he interrupted, “Honestly, Bucky, I need you to be honest with me here. I’m going to take care of you, I promise, but I need to know where your mind is or this stops.” Bucky pulled back but not far, rested his forehead against Steve’s gently and took deep breathes through his nose. His hands tightened on Steve, grounding himself. 

“I’m–I need to–I can’t–Please, green, Stevie, _green_ –,” Steve pulled him forward by the back of his neck and kissed him, Bucky letting out a soft whimper against his lips that had his cock twitching in his trousers and the weight of Bucky over him only added to the sharp jolt of pleasure that licked down his spine. Steve loved kissing Bucky. He loved his small tongue, the bold strokes of it, the soft noises he made in the back of his throat that had his lips vibrating. 

He kissed Bucky until they were both dizzy.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” He promised, pressed the words into Bucky’s skin. Bucky shivered, held him tighter and slotted their mouths together in a way that was pure filth. He was grinding his hips, a sensual roll above Steve and every time their crotches pressed the spark was hot and unexpected; having them both press weak moans against the others tongue. Steve had his hands of Bucky’s hips, had been steadying him but he pressed them down now to cup his ass, gripping so tight it had Bucky’s movements stuttering and he let out a broken, pleading noise. 

“Can you be quiet for me?” Steve asked and he couldn’t even be embarrassed by how effected his voice already was, “Are you going to be good, Bucky?” Bucky pulled back, eyes wide and shit, he was already beginning to let go, eyes unfocused and body almost boneless. His lips were red, spit lipped and kissed swollen and Steve couldn’t resist leaning forward and nipping at his lower lip. His right hand slipped underneath the waistband of Bucky’s briefs, his index finger tracing the crease of his ass and just that action had Bucky trembling. 

“Answer me.” He said, dropping his tone into a more authoritative tone. Bucky’s mouth fell open, slack. He nodded furiously, swallowing before he pressed in close, hips beginning to move even faster, and Steve could tell what he was trying to achieve so he helped ease it along, pressed two fingers against Bucky’s dry hole. Bucky let out a sigh, closing his eyes and nuzzling his face into the crook of Steve’s neck. 

“I’ll be good, sir, I’ll be so good, so good for you…” Bucky was chanting, his words slurring slightly at the ends. Steve couldn’t help the smile that stretched his lips and he pushed Bucky down onto his lap, stilling his movements and pressing them tight together. Bucky stammered, incoherent, against his skin. Steve let his fingers trace around Bucky’s hole, adding just a bit of pressure that had Bucky’s thighs tightening, vice-like, around him. 

“I can’t lift you, baby, can you lie down for me? Get on your back?” Steve asked, pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of Bucky’s mouth. Normally Bucky would scramble to comply but he clung to Steve a while longer before moving slowly, body sluggish to get himself comfortable on Steve’s bed. 

Steve’s chest felt tight as he pushed out of his clothes, leaving them on a pile on the floor. He went and sat down by Bucky’s side, petting his hair back with one hand while the other traced soothing motions over his hip. Bucky’s eyes fluttered, his breaths even and slow, and Steve shifted so that he was hovering over him. 

“God, you’re already under aren’t you,” He whispered, awed, and Bucky turned his cheek into the inside of Steve’s thin wrist, breathing contently and letting Steve spread his legs with no resistance, lifting his hips obediently when Steve pulled his briefs down and off. He was already hard, his cock a nice pretty pink, curving up to lay against his flat stomach. But God, Bucky was a sight, already squirming and under and all Steve’s. 

“If only you could see yourself, Bucky,” Steve breathed, moving so that he was between Bucky’s legs, his hands smoothing over the firm muscle of Bucky’s bare thighs, “You’re so beautiful.” Bucky flushed, a pretty pink from his cheeks down to his neck, his eyes opening and looking up at Steve with such unguarded adoration that it was dizzying. Bucky hadn’t been lying. He had really needed this.  
He had really needed Steve to take care of him. The amount of trust it took for Bucky to be vulnerable with someone was steep, but to be this exposed with Steve was… 

“Can you focus for me, baby?” Steve asked, pressing his hands by Bucky’s shoulders so that he could level himself over Bucky’s face. Bucky blinked, lips parting and he weakly wrapped the fingers of his left hand around Steve’s wrist, his thumb brushing over Steve’s. Slowly, he nodded. Steve was so overwhelmed he couldn’t help leaning down to kiss Bucky, soft and gentle, just because. 

“I’m going to tell you what I’m going to do to you,” Steve began, pulling back so he could see every emotion that flickered across Bucky’s face, “I need you to tell me if you don’t like anything, alright?” Bucky nodded again, practically melting into the sheets. 

“You can’t touch me,” Steve said, and Bucky let out a rasped breath, “You have to keep your hands over your head. If you can’t be good I’ll get my ties. Understand?” 

“Yes,” Bucky said, voice so soft Steve almost didn’t hear him. Bucky shifted his hips, tried to find friction against Steve’s but Steve moved up out of reach, tsking low under his breath. He leveled Bucky with a warning glare and Bucky stilled immediately. 

“I’m going to finger you nice and slow. Then I’m going to fuck you until you can’t take it anymore, and when you’re begging me to stop I’m going to eat you out until you’re coming again,” Bucky’s eyes were wide with desire but he was under, completely dazed, and he didn’t make any of the pleading noises he usually did when Steve talked like that, instead he let out soft breaths, whimpers that were so innocent and fragile that Steve didn’t know if he was going to make it through this. 

“What’s the safe word?” Steve asked, he had to make sure Bucky was still in his head enough for this to work. It took Bucky a couple of tries to answer, and when he did his voice was wrecked, like he’d been choking himself on Steve’s cock for the past hour. 

“Comic book.” He whispered. 

“Good. Color?” 

“G–green.” 

“Good,” Steve hummed, kissing him before taking Bucky’s wrists and guiding them up over his head, and Bucky gripped the headboard lightly, breath stuttering just a little, “You’re so good.” Bucky preened under the praise, his flush darkening, and Steve kissed down his jaw, open-mouthed and hungry, sucking hard at the sensitive spot on the base of Bucky’s throat. Bucky moaned, quiet and content, his eyes fluttering shut. Steve used his teeth, scraped it over the fresh bruise and Bucky’s hips twitched but he was good, not grinding up for any relief. 

Steve leaned over and opened his bedside drawer, looking blindly for the lube because Bucky was still staring up at him with stars in his eyes and Steve wasn’t about to miss that for a second. He maintained eye contact the entire time, shifting between Bucky’s legs and lubing up his fingers.

The first finger had Bucky’s eyes fluttering, the second had his mouth falling open, chest rising, and the third had him limp and leaking onto his stomach, his hands still above his head. Steve moved slow, scissored his fingers, twisted his wrist, waited until his nails caressed Bucky’s prostate. That seemed to shock Bucky into himself a bit, but his eyes were still glazed even as he whined into Steve’s mouth. 

“That feel good?” Steve whispered, knowing the answer but also knowing that Bucky got off on Steve’s voice. It was a good trick to keep Bucky from getting too far under, and Steve reveled in opening Bucky up nice and slow. It was one of his favorite things to do. He loved how Bucky felt around him, hot and wet. He loved the flush that deepened his cheeks and neck, how his thighs began to shake the longer Steve petted his prostate until he was choking, tears pricking his eyes and legs shifting minutely, trying to get away while simultaneously moving closer. His hole was fluttering sporadically, and normally Bucky would be thrashing, would be screaming, but his mouth just opened on a soundless cry, as he was coming, long and thick, all over his stomach and chest. 

Steve couldn’t help grinding his hip down on the mattress between Bucky’s legs, the sight making him instantly aware of how hard he was. He kept the pressure on Bucky’s prostate, kept milking the orgasm as long as he could, and Bucky, he noticed, was still coming, eyes rolling back into his head and body trembling in short, jerky movements. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Steve breathed, his heart hammering in his chest, “Fuck, Bucky, shit, you’re still coming. Fuck you’re so hot, you’re so perfect …” Bucky shook and cried and flexed his fingers weakly and Steve knew what he needed, pressed his entire weight over Bucky’s frame and kissed him tenderly. He withdrew his fingers, feeling Bucky’s cum rub up against the skin of his own stomach. Bucky was a wreck, hair disheveled, sweat glistening like a sheet over his forehead and chest. Steve reached up with his lube-covered hand, rubbed and pinched at Bucky’s nipples, leaned over to kiss the tear tracks off Bucky’s cheeks. 

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” Steve said, knowing that Bucky needed to hear it so he wouldn’t be taken out of whatever space he was in. Bucky nodded weakly, whining as he tried to move his arms to touch Steve but remembering that he was told not to. Steve felt a surge of pride swell in him, and he petted Bucky’s hair off his face, the sweat making the strands clump around his eyes. 

“You wanna touch me babe? You can. You’ve been incredible, so so good,” Steve praised and Bucky smiled, dopey and endearing, and he reached with shaking hands to wrap his arms around Steve’s neck and pull him closer. Steve just kissed him, kept kissing him until he could feel Bucky’s cock swelling again, Bucky letting out soft whimpers onto his tongue. When Steve tried to pull back Bucky’s grip tightened and for a moment he looked panicked, eyes widening. 

“Shh, Buck, shh,” Steve said, pressing kisses into his skin, “I need to get a condom.” Bucky shook his head, tightening his hold and spreading his thighs further, letting Steve fall into the curve of his hips. 

“No,” He slurred, voice barely there, “In me. Want you…come in me.” Steve stopped breathing. 

“Bucky–,” He began to protest but the tears in Bucky’s eyes had him stopping. 

“Need, sir…” Bucky panted, words beyond him and Steve, God, he couldn’t deny Bucky anything. He knew they were both clean, both healthy, and he nodded, kissed Bucky’s cheek before moving and sticking his tongue into his mouth, hungry and greedy as a newfound wave of arousal washed over him. He was shaking now, he realized, suddenly achingly aware of how much his cock was throbbing and it was almost painful. 

His vision, when he got in this state with Bucky, was like a tunnel. The only thing that mattered to him was giving Bucky the pleasure he needed, the pleasure they both craved. His wants came second, always. If Bucky wanted it like this he wasn’t about to deny him. He slicked himself up, aligned himself, and pressed in all the way in one swift, deep motion. Bucky’s head fell back, mouth open. He felt amazing. He felt so fucking good, so tight and hot and fuck, the way he was clenching around Steve had his visioning whiting out.

It was strange because Bucky was usually so vocal, so loud that Steve had to gag him, or press his hand hard over the other’s mouth, especially when Steve fucked him but now he was quiet, all save for the breathy whines and shorted whimpers that seemed like they were being punched from him. Steve had never seen him like this before. It was exhilarating, that Steve could do this to him. He didn’t think he’d ever get over it. 

Bucky was addicting.

Steve started to move, Bucky so pliant and good under him he felt like they would just melt into one another, seep into each other’s bones and share life through one heart, one set of lungs. He fucked Bucky deep, pulling out until just the tip of his head remained before he used all of his strength to slam back in, pulling out, slamming in, the sheets bunching up under Bucky’s back from the force of his thrusts. And Bucky was shaking, trembling so hard Steve could feel it, had to take his wrists and press them down to try and ground him. The bed was creaking, the springs old and loud but Steve couldn’t bring himself to give a shit, to care in the slightest if his mom could hear them down the hall. It was all Bucky. It was always all Bucky and Steve kissed him hard and dirty, reveling in the way that Bucky just laid back and took everything. 

“’M…sir, I…can I…?” Bucky stuttered, looking up at Steve with half-lidded eyes. Steve was so proud of him…so proud of his boy. 

“You can come, Buck. You’ve been so good look so pretty. Come whenever you want.” Steve could feel Bucky’s cock pulse, could feel the way his body tightened until his second orgasm spurted between them and dirtied him up even more, Steve’s harsh movements spreading his cum against his skin like icing. Steve grabbed Bucky’s ankles, suddenly desperate, and pulled Bucky’s legs over his shoulders, leaning forward and nearly bending him in half and Bucky’s eyes rolled and Steve hit his prostate, again and again and again…And then his cock was spurting, filling Bucky up, and he was coming so hard he– 

 

–Woke up in a sweat with an aching hard-on and his alarm blaring in his ears. For a moment he was completely disoriented. He closed his eyes and breathed deep, tried to stop the racing of his heart. His underwear felt wet. He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face, both embarrassed and impressed. He hadn’t had a wet dream like that since he was a teenager, and ironically enough those involved Bucky too. He looked to his phone, slid it on and effectively silenced his alarm. A few texts, all drunk from Clint and Sam. He wondered what time they got in last night. He didn’t hear them. 

He swung himself out of bed, took a moment to wince at the uncomfortable pull of dried cum in his boxers. He needed a cold shower. And maybe to see Bucky.

///

Tony Stark was in his kitchen. 

Steve blinked, trying to assess the situation, which didn’t need all that much assessing. Tony looked up from his phone, pink sunglasses pushing his hair up on top of his head. He had a Carl’s Café to go cup in his hand. There was whipped cream peeking out of the opening on the lid. 

“Why are you in my apartment?” Steve asked warily and Tony took an unimpressed sip of his drink. 

“Good-morning to you too, grumpy.” Tony hummed, not answering his question and Steve remained standing in the living room, trying to gauge Tony’s intentions. The brunette sighed, waving his hand to beckon him closer.

“God, I’m not going to attack you, Rogers. I brought Sam and Clint here last night, and seeing as it was four when we got in I decided to crash on the couch.” He said and Steve moved slowly into the kitchen, pulling out one of the bar stools and sitting himself down. 

“Where are they?” He asked and Tony pointed with his phone to the direction of Sam’s room. 

“Knocked out. They were quite wasted.” 

“Yeah, the missed messages told me they might’ve been,” Steve, sighed, still waking up and reeling from his dream. From his memory. Fuck, he’d forgotten how good sex with Bucky had been. How good sex in general was. 

“Your boyfriend made my drink this morning,” Tony began and Steve didn’t even bother trying to correct him, “Told me you’re going to LA.” 

“Yeah, just for a few days. I leave Thursday.” Tony whistled, eyes glinting as a small smile played at the corners of his lips. 

“That’s in two days. That’s soon.” 

“Yeah,” 

“You going to admit your love to Barnes before or after?” Steve just stared. Tony stared right back. Neither one said anything for a while. But Tony could never stay quiet for long and he was leaning over the table, right into Steve’s personal space. The blonde leaned back. 

“You’re worse than Natasha–,” 

“So after?” 

“So not at all.” Tony tutted, looking immensely disappointed and Steve felt his shackles rising. 

“You don’t get a say in my love life, Tony.” He said and the other man, if possible, looked even more upset at Steve’s lack of action. 

“Yeah, I do. I’m your friend and we made out once so I do.” 

“That didn’t–,” 

“It did too count you had your tongue down my throat, unless you count that as fucking which is really just sad, Rogers, and you may need to get out more–,” 

“Tony! God, look, it’s been what–a little over a month since I’ve reconnected with Bucky? We’re just learning how to be friends again, I can’t just skip that and go to being lovers.” 

“Sure you can.” Steve blinked. 

“You don’t get it.” 

“Enlighten me then. Because it seems to me that you two were friends for what? Five, six years before you lost touch? And then meeting up again it was like no time had passed, you fell right back in to old habits, and you’re as close as you’ve ever been, correct?” Steve didn’t know what to say to that. 

“He’s dealing with a lot–,” He tried but Tony cut him off there too. 

“And he wasn’t when he was younger?” Steve’s mouth clicked shut. 

“Why do you care what I do, Tony?” Steve sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. 

“Because you’re my friend,” Tony said and the seriousness of his tone had Steve looking up, “And because when I mention your name Barnes smiles like this.” He held up his phone. On the screen was a picture of Bucky behind the counter, steaming milk, his apron tied around his waist, his baseball cap on backwards. He was looking down, but his eyes were crinkled, almost shut, the way they got when he was really happy. He looked the way Steve looked at him. 

“C’mon, Steven,” Tony sighed, placing his phone back down on the counter, “How long have you been in love with him?” Steve swallowed. 

“Six years.” He breathed and Tony’s eyes softened. 

“You really want to wait six more?” It was strange, seeing Tony like this. It was even stranger wanting to hug him. Steve didn’t say anything, just stared at his hands for a long while. 

“I don’t know how he’ll take it,” Steve confessed, finding the grooves in his hardwood floors a lot more interesting than meeting Tony’s suddenly too knowing gaze. 

“You never know, but that’s the fun part. Also,” Tony said, resting his chin in his hand, “I have a pretty good idea he feels the same. Why else would he put up with your sulking? And your mood swings? And your horrible morning breath? And–?” 

“Okay, I get it, thanks,” Steve interrupted but he couldn’t keep the fond smile off his face. 

“Good, then tell him,” Tony said, reaching over and patting his shoulder. They were silent for a while, listening to the sounds of the city unfolding below them. 

“Tony?”

“Yeah?” 

“…Can you send me that picture?”

///

Bucky hadn’t really spent a lot of time with Clint and Bruce.

At least not with the two men together. He didn’t know how to really interpret the situation. So far Clint had been glaring daggers at the guy, who’d been sitting ramrod straight at the end of Bucky and Natasha’s couch. 

Nat, both staying for dinner, invited them and Bucky nursed a beer and leaned back against the fridge to watch their stunted attempts at interacting. It was strangely fascinating. Whenever Clint would as Bruce a highly inappropriate question (how much money do you make? Have you ever been in a long-term relationship that ended amicably?) Bruce would look to Bucky with this pleading look of “please talk to him so I don’t have to”. 

Natasha had given him directions to let the two try and be civil so he was going to follow them. He also told her he’d start dinner, but after placing the rice on the burner and letting the beans simmer there wasn’t too much to do besides tossing the salad. Bruce picked up on this instantly. 

“I can help.” He said, standing up from the couch and stopping Clint mid interrogation. Bucky smiled. 

“It’s okay, man, there’s not much left to do.” But Bruce was shaking his head and walking into the kitchen, bracing his hands on the counter and pitching his voice low. 

“Let me help. Please.” Bucky took pity and passed him a knife to slice up the carrots.

///

Bucky didn’t know how the conversation started. 

Actually, that was bullshit, he knew exactly how it started and she was sitting smug with her hands tucked under her chin and brown eyes batting up at him. Natasha was eating her icecream with a completely obvious smirk, more dirty than anything, and Clint and Bruce were staring at Bucky with wide eyes, Clint’s more gleeful. 

“Thanks a lot, Becs,” He groaned, rubbing his hands down his face and trying to scrub away the insistent blush that had begun to reside on his cheeks, ever since Becca had chirped, “Did you guys know that my brother and Steve used to be high school sweethearts?” It was a sore blow, fucking low, but maybe Bucky deserved it for telling the story about how she liked this guy three years ago and sent him a nude selfie but ended up sending to her ex-boss instead. So maybe he deserved this. 

Maybe. 

“No way! And you’re still together?” Bruce asked, eyebrows rising and Bucky wanted to simply just be embarrassed but that hurt, more than he was willing to let show. Becca must have sensed this, her smile fading around the corners. 

“No, not…we were never together,” Bucky, sighed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. Clint braced his arms on the table, humming under his breath. 

“You still like him.” He said. It wasn’t a question, and it wasn’t something he had ever admitted to out loud, but Clint was quite observant despite others beliefs about him and Bucky didn’t have it in him to lie. 

“Never stopped.” He answered as nonchalantly as he could manage. Bruce had gone quiet, deeming it not his place to discuss this topic further, and Bucky was both relieved at his perception and a bit annoyed that he was that easy to read. 

“Wow. This whole time?” Clint asked. Unfortunately neither Becca nor Natasha was butting in to help so maybe this is what the universe was deciding he needed: a fucking intervention and a reality check. 

“I–It was always there. There was a period where I was dating a guy, and I did love him, but it was never fully. I could never give myself up to someone completely like I could to Steve.” There was a heavy silence, one that was as awkward as it was relieving, and Bucky felt a bit guilty knowing that Becca had only brought up the topic for some light teasing and instead everyone got a first row seat inside Bucky’s heart. Half of him wanted everyone to laugh and change the topic. Another part, the desperate half, wanted some advice. Some validation. Recognition.

He’d never really been able to talk about Steve before. 

“Tell him,” It was Clint, and Bucky looked over to him in surprise, “Let yourself live, man. It’ll either work out or it won’t but at least you won’t be torturing yourself any longer.” Bucky blinked, throat tight, and all he could manage was a tense nod. Clint reached over and held his hand, fingers wrapped around his wrist. 

“I haven’t known you for long, but as soon as Steve invited you back into his life I knew you weren’t just going to pass through. See, that’s the thing, when Steve loves someone you can’t get rid of him. It’s almost like–,” He cut himself off abruptly. Natasha was staring at him with wide, warning eyes and Bucky felt like his heart had decided to take a vacation. Becca had dropped her spoon, and everyone was looking at Clint. 

“He–what?” Bucky whispered and Clint slowly retracted his hand, eyes seeking Natasha for some kind of help but the red-head was just as shocked as the rest of them. Clint paled. 

“He…you…” Clint tried and Bucky could feel himself start to shake. 

“ _He loves me_?” Bucky asked, breathless, and Clint let out a soft groan, pressing his fingers into his temples and rubbing, as if the motion would somehow allow him to turn back time. 

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Natasha hissed, ice cream forgotten and Bucky couldn’t look away from Clint, body and mind still completely in shock. 

“Clint…he…he loves me?” Bucky asked again and Clint hit his head on the dinner table. Bucky could feel Becca’s eyes on him, could feel everyone’s gaze on him and before he knew what he was doing he was on his feet, chair clattering to the floor as he pushed himself up. 

“Wait, Bucky! Where are you going?” Becca shouted, pulling herself away from the table just as Bucky threw on the closest pair of shoes he could find (they were Bruce’s but the man wasn’t about to say anything). Bucky probably wouldn’t have heard him anyway. His hands were shaking as he tore the front door open, practically falling out into the hall and Natasha, Clint, and Becca were behind him and on his heels in a heartbeat. Bruce followed after, eyes still wide and trying to process when exactly the evening had gone out of control. 

“I gotta tell him!” Bucky shouted, pressing the down button to the elevator and after waiting all but five seconds tore down the hall to the stairs. Becca ran after. 

“Tell him what?” She cried, barely dodging the stairwell door from swinging shut in her face. 

“I’ll figure it out when I see him!” Bucky tossed over his shoulder and then they were on the street, the sky just started to get dark, a shadow of gold highlighting the city as Bucky rushed through taxis and cars, horns blaring and Becca had to really speed up and try and lead them before Bucky got them both killed. 

“I know you’re freaking out but you have to calm down!” She shouted, trying to grab her brother’s arm and slow him down. Instead he took her hand and dragged her behind, and they reached the lobby of Steve’s apartment just as the gold had dispersed from the sky. Bucky’s hands were shaking so terribly he couldn’t buzz Steve’s door without hitting three other ones but as soon as Steve’s crackled voice came over the com he seemed to settle. 

“Hey, it’s me,” He gasped, completely breathless, and Becca was hunched over her knees, gulping in as much air as she could before Bucky started running. 

“ _Buck_?” 

“Yeah, buzz me up?” 

“ _I was actually just about to go to the grocer, I can meet you down–_ ,” And Bucky was fucking off again and Becca almost tripped over her own feet to keep him in sight. He made a beeline for the back stairs and pushed open the door, taking the steps two at a time and Becca gave a little prayer that she wouldn’t collapse and climbed up after him. As soon as they reached the eighth floor Bucky’s hand was on the knob, pushing it just as Steve pulled and they crashed into each other. 

Steve stumbled back, hands coming up to Bucky’s shoulders to steady him and he sent Becca a worried look before turning his attention back to the lunatic huffing in his arms. Bucky’s head shot up, eyes wide, and the smile that stretched his face was the biggest Becca had ever seen. 

“You love me.” He gasped and Steve stilled, grip slackening in shock and Becca knew her brother wasn’t good with being subtle but she actually felt bad for Steve as the color drained from his face. 

“I–,” He stuttered and Bucky stepped closer, that goofy smile still in place as his hands reached up, cupping Steve’s cheeks. 

“You love me,” He sighed and then he was pressing up and crushing their mouths together and Steve’s knees would’ve given out if Bucky weren’t holding him so tight. In that moment Becca may as well have not existed. As soon as Steve recovered from the initial shock he was kissing Bucky back, mouth opening and he pressed deeper, pressed close, and later Becca would have to tease Bucky about the needy whine he made low in his throat. And Steve who always embarrassed so easily wasn’t embarrassed now. He kissed Bucky like he was starved, kissed him until he was _blue_.

Bucky broke the kiss, laughing hysterically against Steve’s lips before kissing him once, twice, three more times. He had forgotten how addicting Steve Rogers’ was. 

“I love you,” He said, fingers scraping along the base of Steve’s neck, Steve’s hands tightening on his hips, “I love you so much.” 

“You jerk,” Steve snapped but his words were empty and he kissed Bucky again, couldn’t seem to stop, “I had this whole thing planned for how I was going to tell you…”

“This is so much better,” Bucky breathed, slipping his tongue between Steve’s lips and yeah, that shut him up nice. 

“How’d you–?” Steve asked against his cheek. 

“Clint.” 

“M’ gonna kill him,” Steve muttered, kissed Bucky’s cheeks, his jaw, open mouthed and hungry. 

“You love me.” Bucky repeated, dizzy. He needed to hear it. Steve bumped their noses; his eyes fluttering and Bucky could feel the caress of his eyelashes, the warmth of his breath. 

“I love you, James Buchanan Barnes.” Steve whispered and they were on each other again, frantic but somehow still slow, so fucking thorough, and Becca couldn’t help the blush from rising to her cheeks. 

Natasha and Clint stepped out of the elevator as soon as Steve had stepped Bucky against the wall and they were still completely unaware that they had an audience. It was when Steve’s hand, the one on Bucky’s hip, began to slide low to grab Bucky’s ass that Clint let out a squeal that could have shattered glass.

Bucky and Steve froze, eyes popping open, mouths still a hairs breadth apart. Together, in sync, they turned to survey their friends. 

“Well,” Bucky huffed, hands tightening around Steve’s neck, “Almost perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are wonderful. Thank you for all the lovely comments.
> 
> (who else is dying over the new civil war clips????)


	6. Flights and Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky re-connect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So I've been losing motivation on this story, sorry about the short chapter. Comments really do help me find the inspiration to continue, so feedback is greatly appreciated!

It wasn’t fair, Steve realized almost immediately, that he and Bucky only had one full day together before he had to leave for LA. 

They had dinner with everyone after the scene in the hallway, and Steve was expecting something to have shifted, some big change or atmospheric tension but it was like it always was, like it had always been around Bucky: easy, natural, second nature. 

They sat together, and sometimes Bucky would knock their feet, sometimes Steve’s hand would find Bucky’s, the left, the arm he always kept covered, and stroked his thumb along Bucky’s knuckles. 

He hadn’t asked, about Bucky’s arm. He was sure it was a result of the war, was sure that it had changed its appearance and Steve didn’t know if it was shame or refusal or denial that led Bucky to keep it hidden. He wasn’t going to push. He was going to wait, and when Bucky was ready he’d tell him, like he inevitable did with most things. 

“I love you,” He had said, whispered it against Steve’s lips with urgency and a tone that was so familiar in Steve’s own voice he didn’t doubt him for a second. 

He was still uncomfortable with Bucky’s altercation with his ex, jealousy was a gross emotion that he had thought himself above. But when it was them, the two of them, in the kitchen doing dishes, and Bucky leaning into his side, purposefully slopping soapy water onto his shoes, he found he didn’t fucking care. 

Because Bucky was here, really here with him, like he had always wanted when he was sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…but had been too scared to ask about labels. 

“What are you looking at?” Bucky grinned, scrubbing the marinara sauce off one of the plates. Steve wanted to poke in a witty jive on the expense of how large Bucky’s nose was but…

“You. You’re stunning,” and Steve concluded that watching Bucky go beet red was way better. And when he opened his mouth to respond Steve kissed him quiet, using the hand that wasn’t covered in soap to grip the back of Bucky’s neck and make the kiss just a little deeper; just a whisper of a promise that maybe, later, it could turn into something more. Bucky was looking at him with stars in his eyes and a flush on his cheeks and Steve was sure he didn’t look much better. He was actually positive he looked worse. 

“Ya know, it’s weird,” Becca mused and Steve and Bucky turned to see her and all the rest of their group leaning against the kitchen island watching them with matching expressions of thought, “This doesn’t feel any different.” Sam hummed and Natasha picked at the fading paint on her nails. 

“It’s like it’s natural for us to just watch you guys make out in Sam’s kitchen,” Clint interjected. 

“It’s my kitchen too…” Steve said.

“We should start making bets,” Natasha said. 

“Kay, who wants to bet on how many times Steve will grab Bucky’s ass before he leaves?” Sam said. 

“I say six,” Clint.

“Ten–,” 

“I’m standing right here!” Bucky snapped. 

“We’ll start the bidding at $10,” Becca carried on. 

“Oh my god.”

///

They did the dishes. 

They bid their friends goodnight (Sam went into his room with a warning for them to “not break the bed and wake him up”) and then it was just Steve and Bucky in a situation that was both new and achingly familiar. 

Bucky was standing timidly in Steve’s doorway, trying not to let his nerves show but Steve could read him like a book. He was nervous too. He hadn’t had Bucky like this in years. Since they were teenagers and arrogant and both not knowing what the hell they were doing so…not much had changed. 

Except for that yeah, Steve was scared but he could admit it.

He wanted to admit it to Bucky. 

He wanted to tell Bucky everything. They had dressed for the night, teeth brushed, Bucky standing in his black boxers and Steve in his blue ones and they both seemed to be dancing along a line they weren’t sure what crossing it would finally do. Bucky’s lip was between his teeth but his eyes were intent on Steve and he released his lip slowly before Steve held out his hand to him and he was moving forward. He still had his shirt on, and Steve just pulled him in to his chest and pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead. He was shaking. 

“Buck, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” He said, voice sounding loud in the dark. 

“I know,” Bucky sighed, his words a puff of cool breath against Steve’s clavicle, “That’s–It’s just…you haven’t seen my uh, my arm. Yet.” Steve’s heart skipped, his nerves prickling, and his grip tightened protectively around Bucky’s shoulders. 

“Buck–,”

“I want to show you,” Bucky interrupted, stepping back so that he could play with the hem of his shirt, “I’m just nervous. You make me nervous.” Steve swallowed, his mouth suddenly bone dry. It wasn’t just the idea of seeing the physical proof of Bucky’s time in Iraq, it was the naked trust that Bucky hadn’t lost in him and the realization of that was so immense that it made Steve dizzy. 

“Do you want me to turn the light off?” He rasped for lack of anything better to say. 

If it would make Bucky more comfortable, the paling of his face obvious, then he’d break the fucking generator to the ground. Bucky shook his head, took a breath, and in one swift motion, like he was tearing off a Band-Aid, he removed his long sleeve shirt.

Steve didn’t know what he had been expecting. 

He still lost his breath. 

The skin of Bucky’s left arm was scarred, some areas raised and puckered, the skin near his shoulder was discolored; from a skin graph or a burn Steve couldn’t tell. He didn’t know what to say, what Bucky would want to hear. 

What would make that terrible expression wipe from his face. There was so much self-hate in the hunch of his shoulders, the curve of his spine, like he was trying to make himself smaller and Steve couldn’t even tell that his left arm was scarred when Bucky was inwardly hating himself. He stepped forward, and when Bucky didn’t shrink back he moved until he was directly in front of him. 

“Can I?” Steve whispered, holding up his hand and Bucky didn’t meet his gaze but nodded all the same. Steve reached out, gently touched his fingers along Bucky’s skin. It was rougher in some spots, dry and textured and Steve was falling in love with him all over again. 

“Buck, can you look at me?” Steve prompted gently, his other hand coming up and cupping the side of Bucky’s neck, thumb running a smooth sweep over his jumping pulse. Bucky met his eyes hesitantly. He looked so scared. 

“I’m sorry you were hurt,” Steve said, voice cracking, “I’m sorry I couldn’t have been there when it happened. If I were, I would’ve told you that I was there for you. I wasn’t going anywhere. And that I loved you, if possible, even more.” 

“It’s disgusting,” Bucky said, voice fragile. 

“It’s proof that you went through hell and pulled through. It’s proof that you’re the strongest man I’ve ever known. It’s proof that you’re a fighter, always was, always will be. It’s proof that you’re living. You still have the same bones. You’re still my Bucky. I wouldn’t change you for anything. Nothing in the whole goddamn world is better than you are right now.”

Bucky was crying, silent tears that rolled heavy and relieved down his cheeks. Steve hadn’t realized his fingers had interlaced with Bucky’s, his palm smooth compared to the majority of his arm. 

“What did I do,” Bucky sobbed, voice somehow level, “To deserve you?” 

“You’re you, Bucky,” Steve whispered, feeling his own tears prick at his eyes, “That’s more than enough.” Then Bucky was kissing him, his insecurities seemed to be pushed back with Steve’s words because the kiss was confident and strong and burning and everything that Bucky was. 

Steve’s arms came up, touched him reverently, everywhere he could. He was overwhelmed with Bucky but it wasn’t enough. He could hardly breathe but it wasn't enough. Would it ever be enough? Steve wanted to melt into his bones. He never wanted to leave him again, never wanted to part from him for a second. 

He guided Bucky to the bed, lowered him down, pressed against him until he couldn’t tell where Bucky began and he ended. He braced himself over Bucky on the sheets, kissed him slow and easy and Bucky hummed softly against his lips, the kisses growing less salty as Bucky’s tears dried. Bucky’s fingers scraped through Steve’s hair, trying to keep quiet, but he released small moans onto Steve’s tongue and Steve swallowed them down like candy. Bucky arched his hips, rubbed them together, and Steve’s breathing faltered. 

“Bucky…I want…” Steve began, unable to speak coherently. Bucky nodded, kissed him again on the lips, then down to the edge of his jaw. 

“Me to,” Bucky sighed and Steve held him impossibly closer. Bucky spread his thighs and Steve fell easy between them. He peeled off their bottoms, and their hands traced their bodies again, for the first time in seven years. 

“You’re beautiful,” Bucky breathed, blue eyes swallowed by black lust, “You’re so goddamn perfect Stevie…” Steve kissed him silent. He opened Bucky up nice and slow with a familiarity that was almost overpowering. 

Steve murmured praise against Bucky’s skin, against his scars, tasting the salt of his sweat and the sweetness of his soap. 

Buck trembled against him, breaths coming faster; pressing hard kisses into Steve’s neck, collarbones, and shoulders. When Steve pressed in he really did forget how to breathe, how his heart was supposed to beat to keep him living.

Bucky’s breath hitched, and Steve hovered over him, moved slow and deep and gentle and they had never made love like this before. Had never been this controlled but vulnerable, this patient yet desperate. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Steve panted into the side of Bucky’s neck and Bucky’s legs wrapped around his back, pushed him in deeper so that Steve’s vision was whiting. 

“I love you too,” Bucky breathed, as Steve pressed kisses over his face and jaw, down his throat, and when Bucky came he did so with a soft moan, delicate and breathless into the sheets. Steve kissed Bucky to muffle his own sounds, his whole body shuddering, emptying into the condom and Bucky gripped him tighter with his thighs, forcing him to not pull out. 

They kissed, nice and slow and reveled in the feel of each other; of every hitch of breath, every flutter of eyelashes, every gentle caress of fingers. 

After, they laid side by side, fingers interlaced and Bucky held the back of Steve’s hand to his chest, right over his heart. 

And they talked. 

Steve told Bucky about college, about rooming with Clint and then moving to New York to pursue his art career. Bucky talked about the war, about Becca’s drugs, about Brock. 

“Don’t make that face,” Bucky sighed, nipping at Steve’s knuckles. Steve wrinkled his nose. 

“What face?” He asked although he knew he was.

He hated hearing about Brock. Bucky was so soft, and looking at him like he was so in love, that Steve moved boneless as Bucky pushed him onto his back and climbed onto his lap, lining himself up and joining them again. 

Steve laughed, breathless and giddy and then suddenly Bucky rolled his hips and it wasn’t funny anymore. After, they talked. Then they made love some more. Then they talked. Then made love. 

The sun kissed the corners of Steve’s room but they hardly noticed. Besides, Steve thought, pressing against Bucky’s back, letting his hand sit low on Bucky’s firm stomach, he was already holding all the light he’d ever need.

///

Bucky and him spent the whole day in bed. 

Which was nice because Steve could be sitting in the middle of the desert burning to death but it would be lovely if Bucky were by his side. 

They couldn’t keep their hands off each other, still wanting to learn everything. Bucky was still loud when Steve ate him out, and Steve still lost complete control whenever Bucky wrapped his red lips around his dick. 

He felt a bit bad for Sam, but when they finally migrated to the kitchen around noon Sam had left a note saying he’d gone out with Clint and to “clean the fucking apartment and don’t fuck in my bed”.

Bucky had taken the note from him, a filthy smile on his face, and backed Steve up against he counter and soundlessly dropped to his knees.

///

Steve left the next morning at 3am and Bucky grumbled and moaned but got up with him anyway despite Steve’s insistence that he didn’t have too. It was beyond endearing, seeing Bucky all soft from sleep, hair tangled, eyes drooped and glazed. Steve’s shirt hung big off his shoulders and exposed his cut collarbones and Steve couldn’t help leaning in and nipping at Bucky’s chest as he (tried) to give a quick goodbye. 

“How long are you abandoning me for?” Bucky whined, curling his cold toes against Steve’s jeans. Steve scoffed against his cheek. 

“Four days. It was a week, but that was so I could take you to the beach and slowly begin to seduce you.” 

“Hm,” Bucky hummed, eyes still tired but the playful light that Steve loved was present, “Bit presumptuous of you.” Steve raised a brow. 

“Really? Because I didn’t even need to say a word to you before you were all over me.” Bucky pinched his side and kissed his yelp silent and Steve lingered, leaning over where Bucky was sitting on one of the kitchen stools. 

“We’re going to have a lot of phone sex,” Bucky whispered and Steve stifled his abrupt laugh into the side of Bucky’s neck. He bit down to just be a shit and Bucky squirmed against him. 

“I’d be disappointed in us if we didn’t,” Steve replied, pressing another hard kiss to Bucky’s mouth. God, he was addicting. 

“I need to go,” He whispered and Bucky just shook his head and pulled him back down. He almost missed his flight, but the ten extra minutes was entirely worth it.


	7. We're going…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky wants pink nails and Steve needs to pack.

_Bucky found Steve on the rusted swing, the one that creaked horribly and should have fallen down by now._

_He approached carefully, because if he didn’t he wasn’t sure what he’d say, or do, and there was a small part of him that Steve didn’t look up, that he could have this conversation without meeting his eyes._

_But of course Steve heard him so of course Steve looked up and Bucky froze five steps away, hand stilling where it was, fingers brushing the coarse metal of the chain._

_“I’m sorry,” Steve said, voice regretful and soft, “But I need to do this.” Bucky couldn’t find his voice for a long long time._

_“I know,” He whispered, so gentle that the small dustings of wind could smother it, “I know…”_

///

“How was LA?” Bucky laughed, hands on Steve’s shoulders to try and half-heartedly push his boyfriend away. 

His boyfriend who, in the span of two weeks, had seemed to have transformed into a fucking cat, if the way he was nuzzling against Bucky’s neck was any indication. 

“Terrible. Hot. Boring. I missed you,” Steve cooed, pressing tiny kisses along Bucky’s jaw that had him shivering. 

“My sister is literally right behind us,” Bucky reminded but made no move to step away so Steve didn’t either. 

“Yeah, have been actually for the past, oh, I dunno, ten minutes of this weird make-out session.” Becca groused, thin arms crossed pointedly over her chest. Tony was resting his weight on her side, eyes glued to his phone, but he looked up for a moment to watch Steve give Bucky one final kiss before pulling away. 

“It’s like you haven’t seen him in years, Rogers, control yourself,” Tony mumbled, texting again as Steve held open his arms and embraced Becca with a belayed urgency. 

“How are you?” He whispered against her hair and Becca clutched him just a tiny bit tighter. 

“Better,” She said, and was surprised to find that it was the truth. The cuts hidden under her clothes still tingled when the fabric brushed them and when Steve clutched her a little tighter, but her stomach had long since calmed and although she still felt immensely, unbelievably tired she felt okay, for the first time in a long time, as if she needed to almost overdose to cleanse herself. She caught Bucky’s eyes as Steve pulled away and the pain and exhaustion on his face matched hers. 

When Steve had left she had seen him in a short-sleeved shirt for the first time in five years. Now the sleeves he wore went down to his wrists, brushed against his knuckles, and all because she had been selfish and sad and tired. A mess, they both were, to be so tired and not let themselves sleep. 

“You hear about Sam?” Tony asked as Steve approached him next, a one armed hug that Tony broke before it lasted too long. Steve fumbled with the strap of his duffle before fully entering his apartment, and Bucky took it from him to take back into his room. Steve shot him a grateful smile. 

“No, why? Is he okay?” Steve asked, rubbing a hand over his eyes and Tony finally put his phone down to shoot Steve a downright impish smirk. 

“He has a girlfriend.”

“Crush,” Becca corrected though by a single raised brow from Stark she let out a sigh, “Well, almost girlfriend.” 

“Who is it?” 

“Her name’s Maria Hill,” Bucky answered, sauntering into the room and sidling up beside Steve, arm wrapping around his waist, “She’s one of the managers at the café.” 

“Oh?” Steve hummed, looking down to study Bucky’s face because, evidently, it’s the single most important thing he’s seen for most of his life. Becca doesn’t point that out though. 

“Yeah, evidently both you and Sam like baristas.” Tony tsked and Bucky shot him an unamused stare. 

“She’s not a barista.” 

“Right, okay, just you then,” Tony corrected and Bucky narrowed his eyes at his tone. 

“You do realize I’m the one to make your very specific caramel macchiato right? Anything could go wrong, Stark.” Tony held up his hands, eyes widening comically. 

“Whoa, whoa, let’s not get hasty here, Bun. I’m on your side.” 

“I’m sure,” Bucky rolled his eyes and Steve stifled his grin by pressing a hard kiss to Bucky’s temple. The two of them were disgusting. 

“Have you met her?” Steve asked and Becca moved past them to flop herself down on the couch. 

“I have,” Tony, said absentmindedly as he began to shift through the freezer, “She’s hot.” He produced two popsicles, walking over and moving Becca’s legs onto his lap so he could sit down besides her, passing her one of the frozen treats. 

“Notice anything else?” Steve sighed, moving his arm over Bucky’s shoulders. 

“No, not really,” Tony said at the same time Becca piped up, “She’s sarcastic.” 

“Hm,” Steve hummed, seeming thoughtful before Bucky tucked himself into his side and all of Steve’s undivided attention was on him once more. 

“I wanna hear about your trip,” Bucky muttered, voice lowered so that Becca and Tony had to strain their ears to hear, and they did, because the two of them were not above eavesdropping, “Maybe get you out of these airport clothes?” 

“Wow. Right here bro.” Becca huffed, biting into the Popsicle. Bucky’s grin widened and he ran his left hand down Steve’s chest. 

“Look, you two are welcome to stay, but I’m not going to be quiet just for your benefit.” Bucky said blandly and while Steve blushed as red as a tomato horror crossed over Tony’s features. 

“Yeah, like you guys were quiet in high school,” Becca shot back but she wouldn’t put it past her brother to be even louder than he already was and quickly hopped from the couch as Bucky rose on tiptoe to plant a dirty kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth. 

“Ew! Fine! We’re leaving!” Tony whined, throwing his hands up in defeat and grabbing Becca’s hand. 

“Not playing fair!” Becca called out over her shoulder as Tony manhandled her through the door, slamming it shut behind him.

///

“You know,” Bucky mumbled, cheek pressed against Steve’s left pec, his fingers tracing over the sweat idly on Steve’s skin, “We haven’t done a scene in a while.” He felt Steve’s breath hitch and tilted his head up so he could see Steve’s expression. His eyes were dark, a light flush high on his cheeks, and the hand that had been rubbing soothing circled on Bucky’s back slipped a little lower. 

“How long as it been for you?” Steve asked, voice rough, and he coughed to clear it. Bucky pressed his smile into Steve’s neck. 

“Hm. Eight months.” He whispered, subconsciously pressing himself closer to Steve, throwing his thigh over his hip. 

“You and Brock?” Steve asked, a darker tone to his voice that had an excited thrill shoot up Bucky’s spine. He shook his head. 

“I didn’t trust Brock for that. We tried it, once. I couldn’t go under,” Bucky admitted and he pretended to ignore the pleased glint in Steve’s eye, “I went to a service.” He felt Steve laugh, his breath warm against his hair. 

“Oh shut up,” Bucky grumbled, pinching his nipple and causing Steve to jump, “What about you? When was the last time you dominated someone?” He felt Steve swallow and suddenly he wanted to see him. He disentangled himself and pulled Steve onto his side so they could lie face to face. 

“No one since you,” Steve admitted and Bucky’s eyes widened in surprise. 

“Really? No one?” It was hard for him to believe. Bucky wasn’t reliant on being able to go under but it helped calm him in a way that nothing else could. When he didn’t get it he was antsy, more anxious, he felt a tickling under his skin that nothing could really soothe. It was hard to imagine that Steve had gone years without scratching that similar itch. 

“I…I dunno, Buck, I couldn’t…I tried, I did. I had a girlfriend a while back that was into it. But it never felt right. I could never lose myself in her like I could with you.” The air grew heavy, Steve’s eyes intense in a way that had Bucky’s toes curling and his heart racing in his chest. 

Bucky hadn’t meant for the soft whimper that escaped him but Steve heard it and his eyes darkened, holding the moment between them until Bucky couldn’t stand it and had to touch him. He pressed a hard, closed-mouth kiss to his lips, breathing shakily through his nose as Steve kissed the corner of his mouth. 

“You must be aching for it…” Bucky whispered, voice cracking as a new wave of desire burned hot down his back. Steve couldn’t suppress his shiver, his hands coming up to grab Bucky’s hips, his fingers spanning the width of Bucky’s ribs and fuck if that ever stopped being hot. Gently he rolled Bucky onto his back, moving gracefully over him, pressing their hips together and taking a deep breath against Bucky’s skin. He was hard, Bucky could feel him, hot and stiff against his pelvis and for a moment he was so dizzy with want, with the knowledge that Steve, if he wanted, could put him under so easy… 

“I am,” Steve swallowed, voice hoarse, teeth nipping at Bucky’s collarbone before moving up to suck open mouthed kisses along his neck, “God, Buck, I’ve forgotten how good it feels…” Bucky’s hands came up and gripped Steve’s biceps nails digging in until small crescents pressed up on Steve’s arm. 

“We can, we can try now,” Bucky said, already finding it hard to speak, his tongue growing heavy in his mouth, his mind slowly waning, “I’ve missed it. You.” Steve let out a noise between a moan and a growl before pulling back so he could study Bucky’s face. 

“Safe word?” Steve asked voice urgent and pleading and fuck he was already so turned on Bucky could feel his precome painting delicate on his hip. It took Bucky longer to find his voice this time. 

“Comic book,” He said. The expression on Steve’s face softened and he seemed to come back to himself a little, a rueful smile pulling at his lips. He looked so beautiful; Bucky was struck blind by it. 

“Comic book, what?” Steve asked, his voice taking on a more commanding tone and Bucky felt the effects of it immediately: the way his bones seemed to melt, the tension leaving his shoulders, his mind clearing until just white noise buzzed in his ears and the only thing he could see, could care about, was Steve. 

“Comic book, sir.” He corrected and Steve pressed closer, pressed down, eyes black and hungry. 

“Good, good boy,” He hummed, taking Bucky’s wrists in one hand and placing them above his head on the pillows, “And who do you belong to?” Bucky let his eyes flutter close, a sense of peace and calm and pleasure coursing like fire through his veins. He hadn’t felt this good in such a long time. So long, he hadn’t even been aware of how high-strung he had been. 

“Look at me,” Steve said; voice steel and Bucky obeyed immediately, his cock twitching against Steve’s stomach. 

“You,” He answered, his words sounding slow and heavy on his lips, “You. Yours. I’m yours, Stevie.” It was like whatever wall had been holding Steve back had crumbled and he growled before sinking his teeth into Bucky’s neck, sucking hard enough that Bucky couldn’t stop the broken cry that clawed through him. He almost came from that, but he hadn’t been given permission, or any instruction and he wanted to be good, he could be so good for Steve, wanted to be everything for Steve… 

Steve released him with a hard suck and he leaned back, fingers of his free hand tracing over the forming bruise on Bucky’s neck. It was high, high enough that Bucky wouldn’t be able to cover it with just a t-shirt, and the thought that he would walk down the street and everyone would know he was claimed was a dizzying thought. 

“I’m going to take care of you,” Steve was saying, pressing the words like prayers into the skin of Bucky’s chest, his nipples, the grooves of his abs, “I’m gonna take care of you, my perfect boy…” Bucky swallowed, tried to stop the whines from coming out but failed when Steve leaned back up and kissed him, soft and innocent. 

“I love you,” Steve whispered. 

“I love you too,” Bucky breathed before Steve took him apart.

///

The bar was crowded, but when is a bar in New York City not crowded on a Friday night? 

They were all squeezed into the corner booth, Natasha and Clint pressed shoulder to shoulder while Sam harassed Bucky about his hickies and Tony had one eye on his phone and the other on the door so he could see when Pepper arrived. Steve had been working all day, had a Skype meeting at six, but was going to meet them later and the wings and onion rings had long since been devoured between them. 

“Wow, you look like you’ve gotten the shit beaten out of your neck,” Sam laughed, leaning over to pull at the collar of Bucky’s shirt. 

“Stop it,” Bucky huffed, swatting Sam’s hands away even though his chest filled with pride and his cock twitched in his jeans. He was just glad Sam couldn’t see the bruises Steve had left on his hips and ass. They hadn’t gone too extreme, almost vanilla compared to what they had done in the past, but it had been intense enough that Bucky had forgotten about the scars on his arm, the uneven skin. 

For the first time since his injury he had felt whole. Cared for. Like every part of him was something to cherish. Suddenly, he was impatient for Steve to arrive. He did, holding the door for Pepper, but Bucky could tell upon seeing him that something had happened. There was a tension to his eyes that hadn’t been previous a few hours earlier, and Sam must have picked up on it as well, because as he stood to let Steve into the booth he clasped his shoulder with concern. 

“All good?” Bucky heard him ask beneath the thrum of voices around them but Steve just sent him a tight smile and instead of sitting down leaned forward to capture Bucky’s attention. 

“Can I talk to you?” He asked, and Bucky was out of the booth in a heartbeat, letting Steve take his hand and lead them out the side door of the bar. It let out into a narrow alleyway, and as the heavy door swung shut behind them the noise and chatter was cut down to a muffled bloom. Steve had his hands in his pockets, and he wasn’t meeting Bucky’s eyes. He was skittish, half excitement–that was good–and half what? Guilt? Nerves? In any case Bucky tried to not let his thoughts rush ahead of him. 

“Steve are you okay?” Bucky asked and Steve started, swallowing before nodding quickly. 

“I–yeah, I just have something to tell you, I just found out, like an hour ago, um, so I haven’t even been able to think about it…” He trailed off and suddenly Bucky’s heart rate was rising comically. 

“Steve you’re kind of freaking me out, is everything okay?” Bucky tried again, stepping closer and thankfully Steve didn’t step aside, simple breathed in deep and rolled his shoulders back, the way he used to do when he was preparing for a fight. Bucky watched him carefully, wanting to reach out and touch but deciding against it incase it would end up deterring Steve’s train of thought. 

“I got offered the job in LA.” He said. Bucky blinked. 

“I thought you already had the job in LA,” He said. 

“I…I did, yeah, but they want to bring me on as Art Director.” Steve said, looking like he wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted to smile or punch something to relieve all the nervous energy he was no doubt harboring. Bucky still wasn’t following. 

“Okay…?” He said, hoping Steve would continue. 

“They want me to move to Los Angeles.” He said a in rush, blue eyes wide and unsure. Bucky felt like he had just socked him in the stomach. He didn’t know what to say. Steve must of read the surprise on his face because he quickly gripped Bucky’s shoulders, keeping eye contact. 

“Hey, I haven’t given them an answer yet,” Steve said, his voice soothing but Bucky was only focused on the fact that he knew what Steve’s answer was going to be. 

“But you’re going to,” He said, voice numb. Steve was looking at him in a way that had too much emotion for Bucky to being to pick apart but at least his own anxiety seemed to have dampened under the pretense of Bucky’s own. Steve always did get eerily calm when Bucky felt like he was about to break. 

“Will you come with me?” Steve asked, voice unsure and Bucky blinked past the misting of his vision to take in Steve’s face. He brought his hands up, cupped his jaw tenderly as he focused on taking deep breaths. The first time he had moved he’d lost Steve. The second time Becca had nearly succeeded in killing herself. The third time…this would be the third time, what more could he lose? 

He could lose Steve, he could lose Steve if he didn’t go and a part of him desperately wanted to, wanted to just say “yes, fuck New York, fuck my sister, fuck everything that’s holding me here, let’s bounce,” but the bigger part of him, the selfless, self-hating part, couldn’t bring himself to do that. He didn’t have an answer. 

“I…” He started, stopped, and started again, “I want to, I do but I, is it bad if I need time to think?” Steve was shaking his head before Bucky had finished speaking, bringing their foreheads together and breaking out a sigh of relief. 

“No, no baby, of course not. Take your time, talk to Becca, I’m not under any time constraints,” Steve whispered and Bucky nodded before pressing a sweet reassuring kiss to Steve’s lips. 

“I love you,” Bucky said because it seemed important that Steve understood that now, “I love you and me needing time to think doesn’t mean I don’t.”

“I know,” Steve assured, smiling in that dopey way of his that made Bucky’s knees weak, “I know. I wanted to tell you before everyone else.” Bucky’s heart dropped. 

“You’re moving though,” He said, “You’re going to move.” Steve stared at him for a long time, eyes thoughtful before slowly, he shook his head. 

“No,” He said, taking Bucky’s left hand and brushing his lips over his scarred knuckles, “No. Not without you.” And there it was, guilt, horrible and ugly and screaming in Bucky’s chest. 

“But this position is your dream job,” Bucky said but Steve cut him off, tone final. 

“Yeah, and you’re my dream life,” He said it so simply, with no hesitation, that Bucky was floored, “I let you go once, I’m not making that mistake again. Yeah, it would be an incredible opportunity, I’m not going to lie and say it’s not, but you make me happier than any job ever could. Buck, life without you was grey. I got my color back. I’m not letting you go for nothing.” 

Bucky didn’t trust himself to speak, knew he’d start crying if he did, so he just wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders and buried his face into Steve’s neck. Steve’s arms pulled him in, held him close, and although the air was muggy and humid Bucky felt perfect in Steve’s arms. 

There was a heavy lead in his stomach, pressing his feet into the cold cobblestones under them. There was the feeling of guilt for thinking of leaving Becca, but there was also excitement in his chest and a love for Steve so strong he realized he didn’t need time to think about something he already knew the answer to. They’d both made this mistake before. Bucky would be damned if they made it again. Steve’s happiness was his. And he had promised him a trip to the beach. 

“Take the job,” Bucky said, smiling against Steve’s neck, “I’m coming with you.” He felt Steve freeze before he pulled back, eyes wide but awake in a way they hadn’t been before. 

“Really? Buck, if you need time to think–,” 

“I don’t, I really really, don’t.” And if moving meant that Bucky would be able to see that smile on Steve’s face again he’d pack his bags for the fucking artic. 

“I’m with you till the end, idiot,” Bucky said, and Steve let out a choked laugh before scooping Bucky close and kissing him until they both couldn’t breathe.

///

Of course he’d run into Brock at the grocery. 

Of course, that would also be the day he’d tell Becca he was moving, and the day he’d turn in his two week notice, and the morning his phone had fallen and cracked because some asshole hadn’t been looking where they were going so–of course, on this wonderful, raining, stressful day, he’d run into Brock in the spice cereal aisle in his pajamas at 9:15am. 

Just seeing the man was enough to make Bucky’s hands shake, and he desperately wanted to turn and run three aisles over to where Steve and Natasha were arguing over what brand of whole grain bread was better, but he was an adult and simply froze three steps into the aisle. Brock noticed him immediately, and Bucky hated that he was dressed well, ready for work at 11:00, in pressed slacks and a nice shirt and fuck his life, why did he have to be wearing his old gym sweats and a shirt of Steve’s that made him look like he was drowning. He wished the hickies on his neck hadn’t faded. They would’ve given him a small boosting of confidence. 

Brock took him in, let his eyes trail up his body in a languid way that used to make Bucky’s blood hot but now just made him feel objectified. 

“You look well,” Brock said, and Bucky was already itching to punch him into the nearest Captain Crunch box. 

“I am,” He said and nothing more. Brock pursed his lips, eyes still appraising, before he dropped his selected cereal into his hamper and turned to face Bucky fully. 

“I haven’t heard from you in a while,” He said, words that would have been cordial if not for the hard light in his eyes. Bucky shrugged, extremely self aware of the way Steve’s shirt slid across his shoulder at the movement. 

“Yeah man, we’ve been broken up for four months,” Bucky said, and realized, suddenly, that he wasn’t obligated to stand here and make small talk with the man who had emotionally abused him for the better part of a year. 

“I hope you’ve been well,” Bucky began, reaching out and grabbing the nearest box, “It was nice catching up. Bye.” Not his most eloquent, or as dramatic and burning as he had fantasized, but it was enough and he turned to leave. 

“Wait,” Brock said, and something in his tone had Bucky turning to look at him over his shoulder, “Can I take you to dinner? For old times sake?” Bucky knew this ploy, knew this trap, and he smiled sweetly without turning around fully. 

“I’m in a relationship, sorry,” He said and Brock’s jaw tightened. 

“Find someone whose pocket book is bigger than mine,” He asked, in the way that made Bucky think of a baby animal learning how to chew meat for the first time.

“I’m happy. And he lasts longer than ten minutes.” Bucky said, tone dropping into something dark and wary because Brock didn’t look like he was done speaking his piece and Bucky was well versed in the way their conversations usually played out. Fortunately, it didn’t take the turn Bucky was prepared for it to. He felt an arm slip around his waist, possessive but not in an opposing way, and he relaxed immediately. Natasha sidled up alongside Steve, smacking her gum in a purposefully obnoxious way. 

“Goodbye, Brock.” Bucky said, giving a stiff wave and letting Steve press a gentle kiss to his temple as they turned to leave. 

“I don’t like him,” Natasha said as they paid for their groceries, leaning her hip against the self-checkout machine as Bucky scanned their items. 

“Don’t think anyone does, Nat, with the amount of gel he uses in his hair.” Bucky said and Steve stifled a laugh in his shoulder.

///

It had been a long time since Natasha and Bucky had painted each others toenails and talked about sex.

Or rather, Natasha being weirdly invested in Bucky’s kinks and Bucky trying to convince Natasha that Clint could probably (hopefully) go more than one round before clocking out. 

“I don’t want blue,” Bucky huffed, wiggling his toes into Natasha’s thighs, “I want pink.” 

“You’re getting blue because I just bought it and it’ll make your skin look nice and tan,” Natasha said, unscrewing the nail polish and letting the thick scent of it clog their noses, “Also, Steve likes you in blue.” Bucky was beginning to accept that he would forever be blushing whenever anyone mentioned Steve.

Which was ironic, because he could sit here with Natasha all night describing to her how he likes being bent over Steve’s lap wearing lace Victoria Secret panties and calling Steve “sir”, but the moment anyone brings up how Steve looks at him like he literally made the moon he goes all red and flustered. 

“So? Who cares I want pink.” Bucky mumbled petulantly as Natasha began to delicately paint his big toe. 

“Your finger nails can be pink,” She said, tongue peeking out between her teeth in thought. 

“That’ll help me land a job in LA,” Bucky said, crossing his arms over his chest and sinking deeper into the couch cushions, “My dad’s probably rolling over in his grave right about now.”

“Cause he’d prefer pink too?” Natasha asked. 

“Hah. If he broke my wrist for catching me telling Becs Elvis was hot he’d break my legs for even thinking of pink nails.” Natasha stilled, hand hovering over Bucky’s feet, and Bucky forgot that he couldn’t really joke about domestic abuse if it wasn’t with Becca. Thankfully, Natasha didn’t comment on it, just continued her task even if she seemed to take more care in it than before. 

“This place is going to be so quiet,” Natasha said idly, and if Bucky hadn’t been living with her the past six months he wouldn’t have been able to hear the catch in her voice. But he had and so he did, and very carefully he sat himself up and pressed a loving kiss to Natasha’s shoulder. 

“Not for long,” He teased, laying back down, “Clint’s not gonna leave you alone.” 

“He doesn’t leave me alone anyway,” Natasha grumbled, though her eyes were fond. 

“I’ll visit.” Bucky promised. Natasha sent him a soft smile. 

“I know.”


	8. Parks and Rings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a going-away party and rusted swings.

Steve and Bucky had a going away party hosted by Natasha and Tony on the roof of Bucky and Natasha’s apartment building.

There was only one noise complaint, and a small gathering turned into a large blowout once Tony arrived and began live tweeting Clint taking vodka shots upside down. Bucky wasn’t sure how he felt about seeing Becca drink, but she was an adult and had brought along three of her friends and was handling it well so he willed himself to relax and not track her every move. After Tony shoveled him two of his “suicide” mixers his anxious overprotective streak settled and he even joined Becca in a casual drink later on that night (after the sky stopped spinning because _fucking hell, Stark, what’s in that_ ). 

Sam pulled Steve aside halfway through, and Bucky watched them inconspicuously from the corner of his eye. Sam was speaking, in no doubt the tone he used when speaking to clients, professional yet honest, and then he was laughing and wiping away tears and pulling Steve into a tight hug. Bucky’s heart swelled with gratitude toward Sam. He had done so much for Steve, more than Bucky did in his absence, and he was genuinely going to miss the man. 

And then he noticed Natasha with Clint, the two pressed close, heads together, laughing into their cups. Bucky had a fleeting moment of feeling bad for Bruce, but then Clint wrapped his arms around Natasha’s shoulders and kissed her temple without a second thought and Bucky couldn’t find any fault. 

“You’re gonna be back in like two months,” Becca griped, sipping her beer delicately with a faux haughty air, the red solo cup ruining the pompous effect she was originally aiming for. Bucky snorted.

“You’re probably right,” He admitted, leaning against the rail of the roof, “Steve can never stay away from the city for long.” 

“Neither can you,” Becca reminded him, tossing him a considering side-long glance, “Brooklyn born and raised, we aren’t ever getting out of here.” Bucky felt the twinges of nostalgia, the heavy dread of leaving settling sad in his stomach and he chased the feeling down with the artificial happiness of his vodka and coke. 

“I think I want to be a therapist,” Bucky said softly, voice pitched like his admission was a secret and it kind of was, Becca being the first person he’d told beside Steve, “For veterans. I want to help them adjust into society and daily life.” Becca had grown quiet, the music from Sam’s shitty speakers growing too prominent and Bucky turned to make sure he hadn’t said anything to inadvertently upset her. 

She was crying, gently and so soft that she didn’t even seem aware she was doing it, but when she followed Bucky’s attention and lifted a finger to touch the tears a weak sound escaped her lips. Bucky felt his heat shatter.

“ _Oh_ , Becs, oh, shh, it’s okay…” Bucky soothed, setting his drink aside and wrapping her up in his arms, pressing a dry kiss to the top of her hair, “You’re okay, it’s okay.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Becca gasped into his neck, breath wet and warm, “I’m so fucking proud of you and I’m gonna miss you so much.” Bucky’s resolve crumbled, and he didn’t even think when he said, “I’ll stay.” Becca pulled away, face red and unamused.

“Really? You’ll leave Steve?” She asked and Bucky opened his mouth but couldn’t find the truth in telling her he would. That he even could. 

“I hate seeing you sad,” He said instead and she let out a laugh before wiping her eyes with the palm of her hand.

“You’re an idiot,” She said but there was no bite to her words. 

“I’m serious, Becca,” Bucky said, and there was something in his tone that caught her attention, “If you need me to stay I will.” Her eyes went soft and sad and she shook her head, biting her lip and taking a large drink of her beer. 

“No, you go. You’ve put your life on hold for the past six years because of me and while I’m eternally grateful and probably wouldn’t be here without you it’s time for us to start living again. I’ll be okay. Some days I won’t. But some I will. And if I ever feel dark I’ll call you, okay? I promise.” 

“You won’t though,” Bucky said, voice breaking, “You won’t call. You didn’t call last time or the time before that. I can’t leave knowing–,” 

“James,” Becca interrupted and the use of his actual name had him freezing up like a scolded child, “I promise. You gotta trust me. Just like I trust you to call me at 4am when your nightmares get bad. Okay?” Bucky had to collect himself, feeling on the verge of crying himself and while it would probably do him good he wasn’t up for Steve fucking smelling his sadness from across the roof and then chasing everyone out because (and god, Bucky loved him) he would. 

“Okay.” He said. 

“Okay.” Becca laughed, reaching up and pinching his cheek to try and diffuse the intensity of the moment. 

“Jesus, this is like that shitty Nicholas Sparks movie you made me watch,” Becca said and Bucky wrinkled his nose at her. 

“Not Nicholas Sparks, it’s ‘The Fault in Our Stars’ and it’s by John Greene and it was depressing as _fuck_ –,” 

“Yet you’ve made me watch it three times–,” 

“The guy who plays Augustus is hot!” 

“Whose hot?” Steve asked, coming up to Bucky’s side with a coffee mug that was filled with what smelled like tequila and looked like a Shirley temple. 

“You, darling,” Bucky sighed dramatically, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of Steve’s alcohol stained mouth. His boyfriend sent him an unimpressed look but wrapped his arm around Bucky’s waist anyway. 

“Sam wants to give a goodbye speech,” Steve said, looking to Becca briefly, “And then Tony wanted to try karaoke, but before the night goes completely off the rails I um, I have something I want to show you.” Bucky raised his eyebrows. Steve seemed to misread his pause because his eyes widened and he looked to Becca with desperate apologetic eyes. 

“Oh! Shit, sorry, you were in the middle of talking, I’ll come back later, just come get me when–,” 

“It’s cool, man, we were done,” Becca interrupted, shooting Bucky a bemused look, “I’d get going and hurry back, Tony’s only getting drunker.” Steve visibly paled, looking over his shoulder at the party that had been steadily growing louder over the past twenty minutes. 

“Sadly, you’re right…” He sighed, letting his arm drop from Bucky’s side and instead running it nervously through his hair. Bucky watched him carefully, cataloguing the nerves that were visible in his stance. 

“All good?” He asked and Steve sent him a reassuring smile. 

“I promise this won’t take too long,” He said, artfully avoiding Bucky’s original question and Bucky nodded before handing Becca his drink and grabbing Steve’s hand. 

“We’ll be back,” Bucky, told her, somewhat unnecessarily but Becca just shooed them off with the promise of telling Natasha where they went. 

“You’re acting weird,” Bucky said when they were sat side by side in the ratty cab, their driver blasting Katy Perry over the worn speakers and the smell of cigarettes lingered like the leather of the seats. Steve had their fingers intertwined on his thigh, and he rubbed his thumb in soothing circles over Bucky’s scarred knuckles. 

“I told you I’m fine,” Steve answered, voice amused but that didn’t mean that his jittering leg had stopped moving. 

“You’re nervous,” Bucky observed, eyes narrowing and Steve let out a soft sigh. 

“Stop trying to psychoanalyze me,” He said.

“I’m allowed when you’re acting like you’re going to bury me in Central Park.” Steve shot him an unimpressed look. 

“I’m not going to _murder_ you,” Steve said, aghast. 

“Then tell me where we’re going,” Bucky insisted and the mischievous spark was back in Steve’s eyes before he leaned forward into Bucky’s space, stopping when their lips were barely touching and Bucky couldn’t help the slight warmth that pulled low in his gut. He swallowed, eyes flicking down to Steve’s mouth and Steve let out a gentle rumbling laugh before he pressed their lips together sweetly. 

“Just let this be a surprise,” He whispered and Bucky nodded wordlessly, leaning in to kiss Steve again because he could and Steve was a really good kisser. The sun had set low, and Bucky hadn’t realized how tired he was until he rested his head on Steve’s shoulder and had to be shaken awake twenty minutes later, the sky a deep plum purple and the stars useable through the haze of the city. 

He was groggy as he sat up and Steve paid the fare, and when he stepped out of the cab he didn’t recognize his surroundings for a moment. But then the park came into view, empty and desolate like it had always been, although this time there was a demolition sign and a date that hadn’t been there when Bucky was young. 

The sight of the rusted swings had his chest tightening and he reached out and grabbed Steve’s hand to steady himself. 

Together, they crossed the street and made their way over to the swings, and Steve guided Bucky to sit on the only one still in swinging condition. 

“It’ll be gone in a month,” Steve began, kneeling down in front of Bucky and taking both his hands in one of his, “I wanted to come back before then.” The streetlights cast the left side of Steve’s face in a dull yellow glow and Bucky took a breath before leaning forward to rest his forehead against Steve’s. 

“I’m glad you thought of this,” Bucky whispered, running his right hand over the rust of the swing’s chains. 

“I love you,” Steve said and there was something in his tone, something heavy and resolute that had Bucky wrapping his left hand around the back of his neck to keep him still. 

“I love you too,” Bucky said without hesitation and he could feel Steve’s cheeks rise in a smile. 

“I gotta ask you something,” Steve said, voice gentle and soft even as the sirens and yells from the city streets muffled his against the night. 

“Okay,” Bucky whispered, wishing desperately that he could see Steve clearly. 

“How long have we known each other?” He asked and Bucky scraped his nails gently along the nape of Steve’s neck. 

“God, Stevie, like thirteen years,” Bucky breathed, suddenly blind sighted by the enormity of that time. 

“Yeah,” Steve said, taking a breath and pulling back slightly, “I’ve loved you for every single one.” Bucky wanted to agree, tell Steve he had too, even before he knew what love was but something in Steve’s tone had Bucky staying quiet. 

“I never want you to doubt that, Bucky, no matter what, I swear on my ma’s grave that it’s always gonna be and always will be you. God, I remember when I saw you for the first time. I was so blind sighted by how full of life you were. How full of life you still are,” He paused there, taking Bucky’s hands and kissing each knuckle, reverently, with such tenderness Bucky felt tears prick at his eyes, because the first time Steve had met him he had never been so devoid of life, “I–I’ve rehearsed this a thousand times since I was seventeen but you still make me nervous,” Steve admitted, laughing under his breath, “You still make me feel like a kid.” Steve let go of one of Bucky’s hands, reaching around into his pocket and coming back with his hand clasped in a fist, his blue eyes glowing. Bucky tried to remember how to breathe. 

“I know how you feel about marriage,” Steve said, voice thick and Bucky gripped his hands tight, “So this isn’t a proposal, not really, but more of a promise,” And he was unfurling his hand and showing Bucky the delicate gold band in the middle of his palm, elegant and simple, and so much like Steve that Bucky didn’t give a fuck if Steve had just admitted to a 200 person wedding he was sure he’d still be feeling this joyful, “I promise that I’m going to love you for as long as I live. I promise that I’m yours, in every way a person can. I love you so fucking much, James Buchannan Barnes, and I don’t ever want to be anywhere you’re not. I love you. And this is my promise of that. Just…a physical reminder that you have me no matter what.” With shaking fingers Bucky took the ring and slipped it on, watched as it caught the glint of the streetlights. He had to hold it close to study it, to see the quote engraved inside, “ _’till the end of the line_ ”. 

“You…” Bucky choked, swallowed, had to start again, “You bastard you beat me to it.” Steve blinked, looked up at him with such a confused puppy expression Bucky couldn’t help but laugh before gripping his face and kissing him breathless. 

“I was gonna propose,” Bucky admitted, voice giddy and light, “The ring is going to be delivered tomorrow before we leave.” Steve just stared, eyes wide and disbelieving. 

“ _Propose_?” Steve whispered, eyes sparkling, “Buck, you hate the connotations behind marriage.” 

“Yeah, I do,” Bucky agreed, tracing his thumbs over the soft skin below Steve’s ears, “But I don’t hate them with you.” 

“Did we really just do this?” Steve whispered, breathless, like Bucky had punched him instead of proposed. 

“I didn’t get to say my bit,” Bucky groused but he couldn’t stop kissing Steve’s cheeks, his jaw, his nose, his lips, “I’ve been practicing.” 

“You can still tell me,” Steve whispered, dragging Bucky down and kissing him dirty, “I’m listening.” 

“I’ll surprise you,” Bucky breathed, heat shooting down to his toes when Steve slipped his tongue between his lips, “Next time your fucking me I’ll start my speech.” Steve laughed against his mouth and Bucky swallowed the sound and it tasted like hope and safety and happiness. 

“So yes?” Steve asked, pulling away before they started fully necking in the middle of a public park. 

“Yes. You?” 

“Hell yeah,” Steve smiled, taking Bucky’s hands and holding them tight, “Hell-fucking-yeah.” Bucky kissed him again and even though the swing was creaking and the old mulch was digging into Steve’s knees it was a very whole, very perfect moment. 

Bucky wondered what his thirteen year old self would say now. 

If he would be happy, to be back on the swings after a hit from his dad, to now, feeling loved and whole and complete on the same swing in the same park with the skinny blonde haired boy who approached him and gave him a light? 

And as Steve pulled him close and Bucky breathed him in he thought his younger self would be pretty damn happy about how his life turned out. 

 

He knew he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Thank you so much to everyone who has followed this story. The feedback has been incredible, like all of you.

**Author's Note:**

> Blame me binge watching F.R.I.E.N.D.S and my recent trips to New York for this.
> 
> Also I apologize if the format is wonky, I'm still figuring all this HTML stuff out. 
> 
> (if you have questions or wanna talk I'm here; www.dabblingwithdaisies.tumlr.com)


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